


my strange addiction

by dabblingwithwords



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: 'cause i am tired of that tbh, ABO, Alpha Wade Wilson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Beware: Feral Alphas, But with some liberties, Drama, Dubious Ethics, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fantasy, Fighting, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Imprinting, Language, Light Kidnapping, Mating, Mating Bond, Medicinal Drugs, Multi, Mutual Pining, OMG IT'S LIKE TANGLED, Omega Peter Parker, Peter's gonna be a Prince, Politics, Protective Wade, Romance, Sexual Tension, Sexual Themes, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Violence, Wade is a weary bandit, but no actual follow through, except Peter isn't like weak or anything, magical themes, maybe a witch will show up, or completely crippled by his biology, thieves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-01-14 15:56:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18479503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabblingwithwords/pseuds/dabblingwithwords
Summary: Peter is a rare male Omega, promised to King Osborn, Alpha of the North. When his convoy is attacked and robbed, Wade Wilson decides to take Peter to the King for the reward. He didn’t mean to fuckingimprinton the guy.





	1. don't ask questions you don't wanna know

Peter _really_ wants to be anywhere but here.

To be fair he always wants to be in the Green Lands, in the mountains, living under the caves or hidden away in the forests. Even better, to _not_ be born the way he was. He hates that his family has a deal with the Mad King in the North, for Peter to marry his son and keep the line strong.

He hates that his parents were so desperate and wild in their minds that they offered their first born for the sanctity of their village.

It’s selfish, Peter knows, but a part of him, a hideous, bitter part, wishes that his parent’s had let the village fall under siege and for him to have not been born into this treaty. To be born to _become_ a treaty.

“You don’t look happy my love,” May whispers gently, running her hands through the messy mop of Peter’s hair, “you need to try to smile.”

Peter wants to laugh.

He doesn’t have the energy for even that.

“Smiling won’t change anything,” he says, staring out at the garden, at the azaleas, at the daisies, and trying to remember how their cottage looks, how it smells, because he will never be back here again.

May kisses his hair, but her scent is sour. Peter can’t help but shrink back, sensitive, against it.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I wish…I don’t know what I wish. I wish I could take your place.”

Peter knows she would if she could. And the twisted irony is that he would take hers.

“I’ll survive,” he tells her, “I’ll write to you.”

He tries picks at the lavender in his hands, hoping that the smell of the flower will cover up the bitter tang of misery that rides off his smell.

Fortunately, May is a Beta. She won’t be able to pick up on something as specific as that. But his future King will, and Peter’s unsure if the man will care.

“You write me every day,” May commands, and her hands clench in Peter’s linen tunic as the churning sound of wooden wheels creaks down the dirt path to their cottage.

“Make sure they continue their payment,” Peter says, meeting her eyes for the first time that day, “don’t let them cut you cold because they have me now.”

May swallows. Her smile crinkles.

“I’m sure they won’t,” she says.

She’s always been a horrible liar.

Just like Peter.

 

///

 

May fixes Peter’s hair.

She rubs rose apothecary oils onto his wrists, over his scent glands on the side of his neck.

The scent glands are only small dry patches of skin, sensitive and potent in an Omega’s heat and an Alpha’s rut, but Peter and May know that they can’t trust the guards on this convoy, that Peter being a male Omega will make his smell change to attract those around him, and that the oils will help cancel it.

Mute it.

He’ll be on the road for a week’s journey; they shouldn’t take any unnecessary chances.

Peter lingers in his now empty room, stares at the old wood bed and the handmade blankets. He relives growing up here with his Aunt and Uncle, remembers his firsts of everything under the sheets of the old bed.

He runs his hands over the wood carved bedposts.

He’s thankful he isn’t a female Omega. He doesn’t need to worry about physical evidence of him not being “pure”. He’s never been mated, however, so his scent remains unsullied. Just how the King will like it, just how the King’s son ordered it.

Peter reluctantly takes his touch off the bed.

He steps back out into the open doorway, and breathes deep. The smell is equal parts him and his Aunt. Peter’s throat is tight. He doesn’t want to cry, but this is the only chance he’ll get to do it without an audience.

He’s frustrated with himself for getting emotional.

He’s been preparing for this since he was sixteen years old. It’s what he’s been groomed for since he presented, and the whole land caught whiff and ear of a male Omega. Omega’s were rare anyway, male ones even more so.

It's a horrible myth that a male Omega will only give birth to male offspring’s. It's a myth that's sealed is fate.

Peter hears voices of the guards of the convoy outside, and he walks across his old childhood room to look out the window. May is offering bread and tea, while Peter’s single bag is being loaded onto the back of a carriage. Peter sniffs the air, realizing with a gulp of relief that almost every person in this convoy is a Beta.

Peter takes in the armor of the guards, gold plated and emerald green, King Osborn’s colors. There’s one scent that’s more charged, a little sourer. A man stands off to the side, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes, his eyes intent in their scrutiny.

Peter doesn’t like him immediately, and almost jumps in alarm when the older man’s eyes dart up to his, a sharp grin pulling the man’s features tight. Peter steps away from the window and out of view.

A rough awakening of reality that he can’t hide away in his old childhood room. He has to leave. There’s no choice here.

There never was one.

 

///

 

Peter hugs May with the intention of never letting go.

She brushes her hand through his hair, presses reassuring kisses and nuzzles against his cheeks. All the while Peter can feel the older man’s eyes on him.

“You write to me,” May reminds him, “you write everyday.”

“I will,” Peter says, reiterating his previous promise. “I will.”

They part.

Peter turns to the Beta behind him, hesitant and unwillingness making his movements awkward and stiff.

“I’m Peter,” Peter introduces, though he’s sure it’s not necessary.

He’s careful to not say his last name. It’s irrelevant now.

The man shuffles forward, emerald robes kissing the dirt ground carelessly.

“Beta Doctor Schmidt,” the man says, pushing thick bifocals up his small nose, “come here, Omega Peter.”

Peter bristles at the rude commanding, but Beta’s are higher than Omega’s, so he listens, walking up to Schmidt and not meeting May’s gaze as he pulls aside the collar of his linen shirt, wearily standing on ceremony as he tilts his head for the man to scent him.

To make sure he’s unclaimed.

He _hates_ Schmidt’s breath on his skin, hates that he’s so close to such a sensitive, intimate, area on Peter’s body. Schmidt steps back, appeased. Betas can’t pick up on many scents, but everyone can smell a claimed Omega.

Peter ties his shirt back.

“Lets be on our way,” Schmidt tells Peter, taking his arm and pulling him in the direction of the carriage.

The guards step aside, falling into position efficiently. A young woman stands at the doorway of the carriage. Her blond hair is braided and clean. She adverts her gaze when Peter stares. She will be his handmaid, he’s sure.

Peter wants to look back.

He wants to see May.

He knows that if he does, he could be whipped. This is tradition, now. He isn’t from the South any longer. He belongs to the King in the North.

He doesn’t cry.

He won’t let them have that.

Peter sits stiffly in the velvet seats of the carriage, the door closing him and Schmidt inside. It takes everything Peter has to not look out the window. Schmidt pulls out a notebook and begins to write with a thin piece of charcoal.

Peter risks it, and glances outside.

He can’t see May. He can’t see his home. He sees only trees, and rolling hills, and a bitter regret.

 

///

 

The caravan stops after an hour of traveling.

Peter is taken from the carriage and made to strip under the canopy of thick foliage. He doesn’t argue it. His village’s custom linen shirts and trousers are tossed into the mud. Schmidt and the small Beta woman, who Peter heard is called Betty, redress him in the colors of the North.

A dark green tunic, coarser material than what Peter is used to in the South. Light pants, white for purity, embroidered with vines and winter winds.

Peter lets himself be dressed like a doll.

“There,” Schmidt says, fingers lingering over Peter’s stomach, “much better.”

Peter wants to scream.

He wants to snap this Beta doctor’s fingers in half.

He doesn’t.

He looks ahead, beyond the convoy, beyond his life now. He knows when they pass the fields, when they clear the mountains that he’ll be in North territory. No more summers in the creeks, in the fields, surrounded by flowers and humidity and the sharp chirping quells of birds.

He’ll deal with the snow, with the cold, with a life he didn’t consent to. He considers running. He considers fleeing into the forests.

“Come,” Schmidt says.

Peter follows.

 

///

 

Days pass in blurs of heat and rattling roads.

No one talks much.

Peter tried to start a conversation with Betty, just to have some kind of genuine interaction, but Schmidt shut it down immediately.

“Don’t speak to her,” he said, “why would you need to?”

“Because she isn’t you,” Peter had replied.

Schmidt’s eyes had hardened, his grip tightening on his stick of charcoal.

“Keep that talk up, Omega,” Schmidt had warned, “and I’ll bend you over the nearest log and flog your back ‘till you bleed.”

Betty had stiffened beside Peter and had resolutely not met his gaze for days following.

It was then that Peter realized Schmidt was serious.

 

///

 

Peter hates how Schmidt looks at him.

Like he’s an experiment, like he’s observational, like he’s something to dissect.

Peter hasn’t tried for conversation again.

He knows that he’s supposed to be presented to King Osborn’s son untouched, but the King of the North is cruel and unpredictable in his insanity, and he may have to encourage Schmidt to use whatever means he deemed appropriate to get Peter to settle.

To behave.

It made Peter want to act out.

Made him want to bare his fangs and claw Schmidt’s beady little eyes out of his melon shaped skull. Peter isn’t a violent person, but these circumstances are certainly changing that.

They stop every night for the horses to rest and the guards to take off their armor and laugh amongst themselves as they huddle around fires, burning meats and swapping stories. Peter presses his ear against the side of the carriage to hear them.

He’s only allowed outside to piss, never to stretch his legs and socialize. He sleeps sitting up with Schmidt across from him and the doors of the carriage bolted shut. There are a lot of precautions taken to ensure that Peter doesn’t leave.

Peter hadn’t realized how intense this treaty was until now.

The North must be in desperate need of Omegas for all this. It’s that thought, that realization, that prompts Peter into addressing Schmidt the following, dew-dappled morning: “I want to take a walk.”

Schmidt hardly looks up from his journal when he responds.

“We don’t have time to stop, Omega,” Schmidt answers.

Omega.

Always Omega.

Always to remind Peter of his position.

Peter grits his teeth, and crosses his arms. Betty sends him a hesitant look.

“Is that how you want to address your future Prince?” Peter asks and Schmidt’s hand stills over his hurried ashy scrawl.

Schmidt’s nose wrinkles, like he’s smelled something horrible.

“Then Betty will accompany you,” Schmidt relents, the words sounding clawed from his throat, “and two guards. Don’t wander far or for long. We’re almost to the Corp, we can’t waste more time for your delicate needs.”

“Of course not,” Peter agrees, itching to get outside and take gulps of fresh air.

Schmidt pulls a gold cord beside him, a sharp bell alerting everyone to a steady stop.

“Betty, take Lance and Luke. Don’t be longer than it takes to groom and feed the horses,” Schmidt commands, hunching back over to write aggressively in his journal.

Peter bounces his legs, antsy and excited, and can hardly wait for the carriage door to open before he bursts out. The muscles in his legs sigh in relief, and he stretches his arms over his head.

He can’t help the sigh of gratitude that punches from his lungs.

The sun his hidden behind dark, thick rainclouds, the whole area heavy with the smell of wet earth and rain. Betty comes up beside him and holds out her arm for Peter to take, which he does so as to not offend her.

Luke and Lance, two large Beta guards, flanked their sides. Peter easily ignores them. He’s just happy to be outside, to feel the uneven ground beneath his feet.

They walk and the trees of the forest loom over them.

The birds are different up North.

They’re quieter.

Everything is quieter.

There’s a chill to the air here, and heaviness to the earth. Peter runs his fingertips along the plants and the rough edges of bark.

“I missed this,” Peter says out loud, and no one responds.

He isn’t expecting them to. They walk until Betty begins to shift, uncomfortable.

“We might need to head back, sir,” she whispers, her voice so quiet and self-conscious it barely carries, “Beta Dr. Schmidt will be angry if we take too long. He’s run the bell twice.”

“Has he? I haven’t noticed,” Peter says, but smiles, softening the sharpness of his words, “lets go back then.”

They make to turn but a twig cracking catches their attention. The guards fall into a defensive crouch, standing in front of Peter with spears raised. It’s silent. Then– Commotion from the camp brings them up short. It’s violent, loud shouts of a building fight, a rising crescendo, and Peter can’t help but scent the air.

His heart nearly stops.

An Alpha is ahead.

Two or more, but their scents are dangerous, violent and unpredictable, and it makes something inside Peter flip.

He’s never encountered an Alpha with a scent like the one he’s picking up on the wind. The ones he’s met have been from his village, and have mostly kept away. Peter wasn’t allowed much socializing, he’s never been with an Alpha, hasn’t been closer than five feet of one.

The pheromones permeating the air, slicing through to Peter’s core, are making him restless.

A part of him wants to run.

Another wants to see what’s happening.

“Stay behind us, Omega Prince,” Lance commands, turning to address Peter over his shoulder, “we will protect–”

“Ooh, _wow_ , what’s this? That’s some fancy armor, sir, you think it’ll fit me?” A rough voice calls out and Peter has to remind himself that the oil Schmidt applied will cover his scent.

It barely lends him any reassurance.

An Alpha is blocking their path out of the forest, standing between them and the destruction of the royal convoy. The Alpha's scent is something _sharp_ , electric, and Peter’s initial reaction is to cower.

Is to turn his neck and submit.

He squashes those impulses like he would a mosquito.

If this Alpha believes him to be a Beta perhaps he’ll be left alone. Perhaps he can make a run for it and live. The Alpha’s eyes are rimmed in red, crazed in violent lunacy. A scream pierces the air from the crumbling convoy behind them.

Peter can see where a guard’s hands is ripped from his body from one of the bandits.

The people attacking their caravan are made up of Alphas and Betas, brutal and swift in their movements. There has to be at least four of them, not counting the Alpha standing before them now. _This_ Alpha is tall and broad, his skin mangled in nasty looking scars. Two large swords are gripped tight in both his hands, stained with blood.

Luke and Lance crouch further, and Peter has to admire their bravery.

There’s no way they’re going to make it out of this.

The Alpha’s eyes dart to Peter and don’t look away.

For a horrible, heart-stopping moment, Peter thinks this Alpha _knows_.

But there’s no way he could. Schmidt’s oil is worse scenting than May’s.

Peter applied it only an hour ago, his smell should be sour and unattractive. So why is this Alpha taking notice of him?

“What do you want?” Lance calls, and it catches the attention of an Alpha woman, who is currently sitting astride the top of the fancy carriage, Schmidt cowering in the velvet seats below her.

“Stop playing with your food, Wade,” she calls, black hair pulled back and out of the way of the blood smearing her cheeks, “we’ve already got all the good shit.”

The scarred Alpha, Wade, tilts his head. He purses his lips, cocking out his hip and leaning his weight on one of the swords, digging the tip of it into the wet earth.

“I don’t think green’s my color,” Wade hums, almost sounding disappointed, “hey, you! Lil’ cutie with the good tooshie, you got some pretty nice jewelry. Why don’t you come bring it over to me, sweetie?”

Peter, not for the first time, curses the North and their customs for decorative rings and necklaces. The South doesn't care about it, but Schmidt had begun to deck Peter out in gold’s and silvers the closer they got to the Corp.

But if this is what’s going to save Peter’s life then why not get rid of them? He makes to step forward but Luke holds out an arm to stop him.

The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Wade.

“You’re not touching him,” Lance calls, and it draws the attention of Wade’s blood-soaked rag-tag companions behind them, “don't take another step closer.”

Wade waits, like he’s expecting Luke to end it with a punch line to a joke.

When Luke doesn’t, a rough barking laugh escapes Wade, the sound of it so rough and booming that Peter can’t help the way his stomach flips and his Omega shivers.

“Oh, that’s _funny_!” Wade guffaws, and the Alpha woman rolls her eyes and continues counting the thick gold coins in her palm, “Ness, you hear that? They said I couldn’t have the pretty ones rings!”

Peter _hates_ that he’s stuck on this Alpha calling him pretty.

 _This_ is what happens when he isn’t allowed to socialize with Alphas: they take him by surprise.

He isn’t certain of how to parse through all of these different biological feelings. The most prominent one is fear, which is leading Peter into a spiral of wanting to submit, to be good, to make this end in a way he won’t be harmed. If these bandits know who he is they could sell him for a sharp price on his head.

It makes Peter sick.

Lance grits his jaw and rushes forward, like he’ll run Wade through with his spear.

The Alpha hardly moves.

He grasps the pole of the spear in one large, gloved hand and stops Lance’s momentum fast enough that the Beta falters. It’s enough time for Wade to decapitate him without missing a beat.

Betty lets out a sharp, mourning scream. Peter watches, pale, as Lance crumbles like a cut puppet to the forest floor. The blood stains the mud a darker brown, and Luke stumbles back in shock.

“Look,” Wade sighs, straightening and somehow seeming even taller, even bigger, “all I want is the pretty things. That’s not _that_ bad. I think they’ll bring out my eyes, and I wanna feel cute, so back the _fuck up before I disembowel you_.”

For a moment Peter thinks Luke will fight. Instead, the Beta tosses aside his spear and runs, leaving Peter and Betty in the aftermath of his choice. Wade watches him go with a cold look, bending down and picking up Lance’s fallen spear.

He takes form, dipping the spear back before throwing it through the air. Peter watches, helplessly, as the spear lodges itself in the back of Luke’s neck, spearing him to the earth and trapping the life from him.

Wade meets his eyes, and the anger there takes Peter by surprise and makes Betty shiver.

“I don’t like cowards,” he says, like he needs to explain himself, and sheathes his swords as he walks towards them, “especially ones that abandon their oaths. Who _does_ that shit?”

“You break oaths all the time, Wade!” One of the Betas, a weasley looking man with straw hair, calls from where he’s eating a stolen apple. “Hurry the fuck up!”

“Go fuck a pig Weasel!” Wade snaps back, enough Alpha in his tone to have the Beta shrink back.

It makes Peter’s knees shake.

Wade sees.

He stops, a few feet away, and it takes everything in Peter’s being to look up and meet the Alpha’s red-rimmed gaze. As soon as he does Peter realizes his mistake.

“ _Oh_ ,” Wade says, and it sounds like it was punched from him, “well fuck, baby.”

He makes to step closer but Betty pushes Peter behind her and gets between them, staring up at the intimidating Alpha even if her grip on Peter is trembling.

“Don’t touch him,” she snaps, “stand back.”

Wade grins, and Peter catches the sight of sharp fangs, bigger than his own, peeking under the Alpha’s full lips.

“That’s cute,” Wade rumbles, before grabbing Betty’s shoulder and tossing her like a rag doll behind them.

It isn’t a hard push, but it shakes Betty up enough to have her not stepping back up.

Peter swallows, pulse sky-rocketing, as Wade bends so they’re eye to eye. If possible, the Alpha looks even wilder than he did covered in Lance’s blood. Ness, the other Alpha of the group, is watching them with hawk-like precision.

“I won’t hurt you,” the Alpha says, and it’s almost soothing, like a balm over a burn, and Peter didn’t realize how badly he needed it until the Alpha crooned, “Tilt your head for me.”

Peter realizes, with a sinking dread that Wade wants to _scent_ him.

If Wade scents him, it’s over.

Peter takes a shaking step back. The Omega in him is cowering, but May always called him trouble. Stubborn. He isn’t about to bend over for this Alpha. He isn’t about to be marked again like he’s a prize to be won.

Fuck all that.

“No,” Peter says, and thunder rolls over the Alpha’s expression, lighting makes the red eyes redder.

“No?” Wade repeats, voice still soft and coaxing. “Honey, I wasn’t asking.”

“Then make me,” Peter hisses, all the anger, all the frustration of the past week, of his life, of his situation, making him a viper, “but I’m not rolling over for you.”

Surprisingly, a sharp smile crosses Wade’s features.

“I’m not asking you to submit,” Wade says, “but you smell kinda like someone ate shit and threw it back up, and I’m assuming it’s ‘cause you don’t want your real scent out in the wild, huh? No offense, but being this close to you is making me gag, and if I’m gonna be wearing your jewelry we gotta get that smell off of you.”

Peter bristles, offended despite the “no offense” and he realizes he’s in a life or death situation with a gang of violent, greedy individuals but there’s something about this Alpha that makes him bold.

“Fuck you,” Peter snaps and the Alpha’s eyes widen in delighted alarm, “I smell like honey and daisies, your nose is broken.”

There’s a heavy tension, one where Betty looks between both Wade and Peter in horrified bewilderment.

But then Wade laughs, and it’s nothing like the boisterous sound from earlier. This is soft, and genuine, and makes something in Peter stretch and purr.

“Damn, roast me,” Wade smiles, and the soft look makes the blood on his skin seem bizarre and out of place, “you're feisty, huh, baby?”

“You just _slaughtered_ everyone I was with,” Peter hisses, alternating from feeling like the Alpha is mocking him to pleased that the Alpha is showering him with all this attention and acknowledgment.

“Aw, ‘ _cmon_ now, you really tellin’ me you like _Royals_?” Wade asks, eyes narrowing in apparent mirth, “You tellin’ me you like the Wild King? The Goblin King? _Ew_ , are you really one of his followers? You got some fancy clothes, and his crest–“

Wade trails off and Peter goes still, his scent souring with his nerves. It makes Wade’s nose wrinkle in obvious displeasure, his own scent shifting, less sharp now and more settled, matching the smell of the moss on the trees and the tang of the forest floor.

“You’re important,” Wade says slowly, piecing things together, “huh.”

He turns to look over his shoulder at where Schmidt is still cowering under the velvet cover of the carriage, then he turns back to Peter, a calculating look on his features.

“All righty then,” Wade hums, and before Peter knows what’s happening he’s being tossed over a broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

An indignant shout leaves his mouth, and he twists in Wade’s embarrassingly strong hold.

“What the _hell_?” he snarls, tempted to bite Wade’s back.

He squirms, and kicks, and scratches, and tries to ignore Betty looking at the scene unfold with wide eyes.

He goes still when Wade spanks him, sharp but not hard. His cheeks flush in both anger and embarrassment.

“Did…did you just hit me?” Peter splutters.

Wade’s grip on his waist tightens.

“Nah, baby boy, I spanked you for being bad,” Wade says, his tone cheerful and infuriatingly upbeat, “’cause you kicked me.”

“You tossed me over your shoulder!”

“Think you ripped my shirt–”

“You literally murdered everyone I was with!”

“Oh _please_!” Wade whines, landing a more playful slap to Peter’s ass, “Like you cared about them!”

Peter couldn’t really argue against that. Still–

“Stop _spanking_ me,” he grumbles, pushing up so that he’s not literally hanging off Wade’s shoulder.

“You’re high-maintenance for a hostage,” Wade says and that’s an ice bucket of reality.

Wade drops Peter unceremoniously besides Schmidt in the carriage, and Peter finally as the chance to take in the bandits around him. There’s Wade, the tallest, probably the leader. Everything about the man screams Alpha, and everything about his posture and scent demands being treated as such.

There's the mousy Beta with the apple, the other Alpha woman Ness, and another Alpha that Peter hadn’t noticed before, the other two’s scents not nearly as strong or as prominent to Peter as Wade’s.

This third Alpha is looting the armor off the fallen guards, head shaved, scar making his eyebrow a little crooked. He meets Peter’s gaze and lets out a low whistle.

“Damn, he’ll sell for a pretty picture,” the third Alpha croons, “as soon as you soak him down. His smell’s all off. Let me help with that.”

Ness crosses her arms over her chest, expression bored but still assessing.

“Chill your knot, Francis,” Ness growls, low and warning, and Wade’s positioned himself so that he’s blocking Peter from view.

Which confuses the Omega even further, because Wade has been so cavalier it has to be biology and pheromones making the Alpha resort to a protective instinct over someone he doesn’t know.

“Touch him and I’ll saw your hands off with a rusted spoon,” Wade growls, and his voice has dipped three octaves down, low enough that Peter can feel Schmidt tense.

“God, hell, fuckin’ Alpha’s,” the Beta, Weasel, groans sauntering over and stopping a foot away from Peter. His eyes dart between him and Schmidt, too intuitive and shrewd for Peter to feel comforted.

“Scent blocking oil,” Weasel says leaning way too close to Peter for societal standards of politeness, “damn. Heavy shit too.”

“Scent blocking,” Wade repeats, eyes intense and heavy on Peter’s, “what’s up with that, shrubby?”

He’s addressing Schmidt, Peter realizes with a belated sense of disconnected humor, but Schmidt simply turns up his nose and refuses to answer.

“It’s ‘cause the kid’s an Omega,” Weasel says and Peter feels all the color drain from his features as three pairs of Alpha eyes turn on him, “a nice, unclaimed, Omega.”


	2. learned my lesson way too long ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some perspectives

 

Wade was never rich.

He never had money as a child. It was him, his alcoholic dad, and his mother– shelved away in a hut he helped his mom make when he was seven. His father’s morning routine was to drink his life away at nearby pubs, picking fights with Alpha’s just to prove to himself that he wasn’t as weak as everyone said he was, and then coming home when he lost and beating Wade’s mother because if he couldn’t land a hit on the Alphas at the pub then he could most definitely land a few on his Beta wife.

Wade hated him.

He hated his father so terribly his eyes stayed red until he was fifteen, before he even presented. Wade’s father had a temper, and Wade inherited that greedily. They’d get in horrible fights with one another, Wade being smaller but his father, an Omega sick of his own circumstance, would shut him up with enough blows to swell his mouth shut.

Wade’s mother passed when he was seventeen, and Wade left home two days after. If he stayed with his father one more day he’d kill him, he was sure of it. He took to robbing passerby’s on the dark roads near the Wandering Woods, where travelers who weren’t natives got lost in the winding paths and heavy, constant bog.

Wade stayed away from Omegas.

He didn’t like the way he lost half his mind around them, didn’t like the way their scents took the shape of his mother’s cooking or his favorite winter days when a fire crackled on the hearth and soup lay comforting in his stomach. He didn’t like how they reminded him of his bitter father, of blood and shock and broken bones too fragile to set right.

Omegas were distractions, were too much, were reminders of a past Wade didn’t want to remember.

So he avoided them.

He spent his sporadic ruts deep in the forests, hunting with his bare hands just to get some of his pent up aggression out. He hated himself for the fights he started but relished in how good it felt when someone broke his nose, his ribs, _anything_ – made him feel _anything_ other than how empty he always felt.

Wade wasn’t a dumbass, despite what everyone believed.

He knows why he feels empty, why there’s a hollow pit in his chest. Alphas and Omegas are drawn to each other for a reason. Biological or not, it’s a balancing act. Wade’s never gone through a rut with an Omega. He’s never scented one for long, has never left himself be within five feet of one. His close friends are Vanessa and Weasel, and their scents don’t attract him in the slightest. They don’t make Wade think of his old life, of his mother, of their old home that Wade had helped her build with small hands and a heavy heart.

Wade did all right for himself now. He traded gold and jewelry for weapons and food and beds to sleep in and Beta prostitutes to make the goddamn _hole_ in his chest seem a little less vast.

“She’s been staring at you all night,” Vanessa says, and Wade doesn’t look up from the mug of beer in front of him to understand who the other Alpha is addressing.

“I don’t do Omegas,” Wade growls, playing with the weathered leather of his gloves to distract himself from the stirring of want in his bones, “Francis can have her.”

“Have her?” Vanessa repeats, a dangerous growl to her words, “like a prize, huh?”

“Not like that,” Wade is quick to soothe, looking up to meet Vanessa’s eyes where they’ve fuzzed in amber, “not– c’mon Ness, I ain’t so horrible. I just, you know, I don’t fuck with that.”

“Right,” Vanessa says, eyes flashing, “what if _I_ want her?”

Wade’s grin is sharp.

“Like a prize?”

Vanessa bares her fangs, playful, and leans forward so that Wade and her breathe the same breath.

“You’re missin’ out on some magic shit, Wilson,” Vanessa tells him, oddly serious for the way she was just teasing, “Omegas are on other plane, baby. You get off on them and you’re floatin’.”

“Or just shoot up,” Wade grumbles, no longer interested in this familiar diatribe, “opioids will do that too.”

“Yeah but this is free,” Vanessa winks, downing the rest of Wade’s beer and standing in a flourish, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Wade laughs, reluctantly holding up his hand for Vanessa to high-five.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” he sighs, not looking to where Vanessa is sauntering up to the female Omega at the bar.

He wishes she didn’t drink the rest of his beer. He really needs it.

 

///

 

The first winter winds come three days later, carrying snow and flurries and a chill that has Wade shivering down to his bones.

“Omegas help with that,” Francis tells him and Wade snarls, irritated, looking over to where Francis is casually skinning a large doe.

“Omegas aren’t fuckin’ magicians,” Wade snaps, crossing his arms and nuzzling deeper into his wool cloak, “what, they control the temperature now? This is why I don’t fuck with ‘em, you and Ness always come back from town all loopy and drugged out and believing in fairies.”

Francis shrugs, the heat of the animal carcass creating steam in the cold air.

“How do you know?” Francis returns with that cocky grin of his, “you haven’t tried it.”

“Sex in general is overrated,” Weasel grumbles from where he’s huffing at a lazily rolled cigarette, watching Francis struggle with getting all the skin from a knobby knee joint, “roasted pheasants? Better than sex.”

Wade huffs a laugh, his breath fanning out in white puffs around them. He looks over at Weasel, grateful for the change in topic but never willing to give the Beta any credit.

“Hey Weas,” he calls over, ‘cause the guy likes to park up under trees an annoyingly far distance away from camp, “how much we got left?”

Weasel bites on the edge of his cigarette as he pulls a large pack from over his shoulder and rummages through, the sound of valuables clinking in the quiet forest.

“Eh, not a lot,” Weasel answers after a moment, glasses slipping down his thin nose, “enough to get us to the next town. What’s it called? Bumbville?”

“Frostside,” Francis mutters, flicking blood and staining the white ground red, “I like that one. Good pubs. Good brothels.”

“Good drugs,” Weasel sighs, stashing away the pack, “we could head over today. Takes for fucking ever to clear the mountain range.”

Wade looks up at the grey sky, the trees dead and dismal above him. Just once, he’d like to experience summer. Up North it rarely gets warm, alternating between freezing temperatures to mild, uncomfortable chills. His mother used to talk about the South, about beaches and flowers and the sun warming your skin. Wade would like to go, just to experience it for her.

He stands, suddenly restless; skin buzzing with an oversensitivity he only experiences when his Alpha wants to mate. Or rage, either one, and Wade’s always chosen the latter.

His scent must have spiked, because he can feel Francis watchful gaze follow him.

“I’m tellin’ ya Wade,” Francis says, “fuck an Omega. You might be the first Alpha to go feral from just refusing to get your knot wet.”

“Fuck off,” Wade snaps, not meaning to fill his words with the sharp, bitter rumble of a growl.

It’s enough of a warning that Francis’ eyes gleam, as dark as the blood that’s staining the snow around him.

“Fine, torture yourself,” Francis says, “but control your fucking pheromones or I’m leavin’ you in the woods.”

Weasel watches the exchange with the uncaring apathy of someone whose seen the same scene unfold every few days for years, choosing instead to amble over and sit heavily between the two Alphas.

“I’m fuckin’ starving, Francis, hurry up,” Wade sighs, trying to control his scent to the best of his abilities.

“Yeah, I’m going–” Francis begins but Vanessa is bursting through the underbrush, scent wild and excited and it’s enough of a disturbance that everyone turns to her.

“Guess what I fuckin’ found,” she says, fangs flashing, “a Royal convoy! Everything’s gold!”

It takes a second for her words to sink in, but when it does Wade can’t keep the nasty smile of excitement from his face.

 

///

 

They were all Betas.

They fell easily in their surprise. Their weapons were weak, shoddily built, not sustainable.

One cowered in the carriage, the Osborn Crest on his clothes.

He smelled sour in his fear.

Vanessa didn’t kill him.

 

///

 

It was a horrible, revolting smell.

Like something was rotting, like something was dead, and it was coming from a young man that looked too sun-kissed and warm to be from a land as cold and barren as the North.

The guard died for the kid. The Beta girl would have if Wade were feeling any more wild.

 

///

 

 

The young Beta’s knees shake when Wade lets a growl sink into his words.

It’s a sound that wouldn’t affect a Beta physically. It’s that movement, that reaction that draws Wade’s full attention.

“Fuck you, I smell like honey and daisies, your nose is broken.”

Something in Wade stirs. Something in Wade _aches_. Something in Wade reminds him he’s alive.

 

///

 

“It’s ‘cause the kid’s an Omega,” Weasel says and Wade goes utterly still, a cold dread sinking like ice into his veins, “a nice, unclaimed, Omega.”

Fear grabs Wade first. Fear, and an extreme wave of possessiveness he doesn’t deserve to claim.

The Omega is looking up at them defiantly; his scent still sour because of the oils, but Wade is suddenly desperate to clean it the fake stench away, to know how the kid _really_ scents, to see how he feels, _tastes_ –

Heat is in him, boiling up, and his vision blurs, the world muting because the Omega is meeting his gaze with a passion and a fire that Wade hasn’t seen since his mother placed herself between him and his father–

“Leave ‘em,” Wade says, and Weasel splutters just as Vanessa grabs his arm.

“Leave him?” she hisses, her own eyes shaded red and yes, _this_ is why Wade _doesn’t fuck with Omegas_ –

“We don’t need three extra mouths to feed,” Wade hisses, pointing to the Shrubbie Beta and the blonde one that Francis is currently dragging their way, “and we don’t need a fucking _Omega_ takin’ up everyone’s attention.”

“He’s a _male_ Omega,” Weasel argues and Wade’s three seconds away from strangling him, “do you know how much he’s worth?”

“Do you know he can hear you?” the Omega snaps and _fuck_ , Wade needs to close his eyes and count to ten because his Alpha is reacting in a way it never has and Wade’s _horribly_ unprepared.

Maybe it was a mistake, ostracizing himself away from Omegas. He tries to breathe through his nose, because the kid’s fake scent is _seething_.

“Shit, baby, can we give you a bath before we have this discussion?” Wade pleads, really, embarrassingly close to begging.

He glares at the Doctor Beta, the one with the glasses, and pushes past Vanessa so he can bend and grab hold of the man’s thick tunic. Weasel lets out a grumble behind them and wanders off, probably to take a piss.

“What kind of sick fuck are you, huh?” Wade asks, pleasantly enough he thinks, “How the _hell_ do you make someone smell like death?”

“He doesn’t smell that bad,” Vanessa pipes up, and that makes Wade look back at her in utter astonishment.

“Ness, he _stinks_ ,” Wade says.

“Thanks,” the feisty Omega grumbles, eyes darting about like he’s planning to bolt and weighing the pros and cons of that decision.

The Beta blinks up at him, eyes wide, sweat staining his brow despite the cold air. He’s practically shaking under Wade’s gaze, under the Alpha’s presence, and really Wade wouldn’t be surprised if the man didn’t piss himself.

A laugh breaks his concentration, makes his Alpha shiver and calm and Wade’s eyes snap to the Omega who is decidedly _way_ too close to him.

“It’s nothing,” the Omega says, a smile betraying his mirth and Wade feels oddly pleased by the sight, “this is entertaining.”

Wade’s eyebrows rise.

“Entertaining?” he repeats, incredulous. “You’re a hostage and I’m threatening your doctor.”

“Not my doctor,” the Omega says, “not my friend.”

Wade thinks of bloody knuckles and fear and his father.

He tilts his head to the Beta in his grasp.

“He hurt you?” Wade asks, not sure why he cares, not sure why he’s dragging himself into a conversation with the Omega when not five minutes prior he was content to let the kid freeze in the woods.

The Beta’s eyes dart to the Omegas. Imploring, almost.

“He threatened to,” the Omega says, holding the Betas’ gaze unwaveringly. His little fangs peak out in a soft threat.

Wade, despite himself, wants to show the Omega his own fangs. He wants to _preen_.

Fuck Omegas. They make Wade soft.

With a grunt Wade lifts the Beta clear off the carriage, his small legs dangling above the ground.

“Why are you so adamant on hiding this Omega?” Wade asks, then corrects himself, “besides the obvious.”

The Beta swallows, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet forest.

“Lets just eat him,” Francis sighs, “I’m bored, and Vanessa interrupted my deer.”

Wade sees the Omega pale.

“We’re not fuckin’ cannibals, shit,” Wade hisses, noticing when the Omega relaxes, just a little, “now answer the question.”

“H-He’s for the King,” the Beta stammers and everyone’s attention zeroes in on this new information, “he was promised.”

A heavy silence falls over the ground, the blonde Beta shaking in Francis’ hold. Vanessa takes a step forward, expression guarded.

“Promised,” she repeats, a spark that Wade’s well familiar with lighting in her eyes, “his ransom would be worth our weight in gold.”

The Beta’s eyes gleam, and he latches onto Vanessa’s words like a hopeful leech. Wade hates him.

“He would!” he exclaims, desperate, and the Omega grits his jaw but says nothing, “the King would make you rich! If–if I say you saved us from bandits, he will shower you in gold. The Omega is worth a Kingdom, you’d be rich!”

“Huh,” Francis hums, “well.”

“You’d lie for us?” Vanessa asks, “You’d tell the King we saved you?”

The Beta nods. Wade wrinkles his nose at the smell of his sweat.

“Yes! Yes, as long as you let me live–“

“Or we kill you,” Wade interrupts and the Beta pales, “take the kid and just tell our own story. I don’t trust you one fucking bit, and to be honest your voice annoys the hell out of me so–”

“I’m a Doctor!” The Beta presses, clawing at Wade’s thick wrist, “You think you Alphas will be able to hide the Omega when he goes into heat? When you’re in a village and his scent is everywhere? You know Omega’s, how weak and susceptible they are! You’ll be killed instantly without me to hide him.”

Wade’s grip on the Beta’s throat tightens enough that his final words are a garble. He hates that the man has a valid point. Wade doesn’t want to touch the kid with a fifteen-foot spear; he’s sure Ness and Francis are having a similar reaction. If they want the reward money that will inevitably be offered once the King catches word that his Omega was taken then they need to keep the Omega hidden.

Shit this is complicated.

How badly does Wade want gold–

“Lets do it,” Weasel pipes up and Wade lets the Beta go just to see him crumble to the ground, “I wanna get the hell out of the North. This is a great final job. We do the bare minimum and retire for the rest of our miserable lives. What do we have to lose?”

Wade looks to Vanessa, who nods in agreement.

The Omega is sitting, silent, eyes downcast, as people discuss his fate. Like he’s a prize, a trophy. It makes something twist in Wade, makes him uncomfortable, but he doesn’t step forward as Weasel ties the kid’s wrists together.

“Head up, Omega,” Francis says as he passes, the blond Beta being tugged roughly behind him, voice pitched low so only those close can hear, “could’ve been worse. We could’ve each taken turns with you and left you in the snow.”

The Omega’s jaw ticks, and when he meets Francis’ eyes it’s fire. Wade steps forward, pushing Francis and his crude talk aside before kneeling in front of the Omega, who blinks, alarmed at the Alpha taking a position that’s setting him lower.

“Too tight?” Wade asks, pointing to the Omega’s binds.

“Uh,” the Omega says, as confused by Wade’s behavior as Wade is, “do you care?”

 _No_ , Wade wants to say, but his actions belay his truth.

“Look, it’s just business,” Wade says.

Why he needs the Omega to understand this is beyond him.

“Sure,” the Omega says, bitter, “and I’m the transaction.”

Wade isn’t sure what to say to that. He’s not one for lying.

“What’s your name?” Wade asks and when the Omega hesitates he continues, “Unless you like me callin’ ya Omega.”

“No, I hate it,” the Omega agrees, shifting uncomfortably, “name’s Peter.”

“Peter,” Wade repeats, “got a last name?”

The smile that stretches Peter’s face is bitter and sad.

“Not anymore,” he says.

 

///

 

Weasel packs all he can fit into their bags, all the gold, all the jewelry.

Wade gets a nice fucking sword out of this, made from Royal steel, and the blade shines beautifully against the falling snow.

Vanessa hasn’t moved far from the young Omega, taking an almost protective role that Wade hasn’t seen her adopt since they ran into that Beta kid in the Black Market years ago.

“Ness,” Wade calls and sees where Francis is taking the blonde Beta into the woods, most likely to slit her throat, “you take the Omega. I’m not agreeing to this shit.”

“You are though,” Vanessa disputes, reaching forward and grabbing Wade’s wrist to still him from walking away, “with the money he’s worth we can go South, Wade. We can leave. Don’t you want that?”

Wade grits his jaw.

He feels out of control.

“Yeah,” he sighs, running a frustrated hand over his face, “just–keep the Omega away from me.”

Vanessa watches him closely, before stretching up so she’s speaking into Wade’s ear, careful of the audience around them.

“You’re the most affected by his scent,” she whispers, “you can’t leave him now if you tried.”

Wade pulls back, about to question but Vanessa is moving to get Peter to stand and Wade’s lost any words he may have had.

 

///

 

Peter hates rope.

It itches, and gathers heat, and it cuts off his circulation with every pull. Why couldn’t they have bound him with silk? Fabric? Anything else?

He supposes he should be more concerned about his current predicament. He thinks he should be more afraid, but he’s already been sold, this is just becoming a more complicated way to get him to where he’ll inevitably end up. Apathy, strong and abhorrent, grounds him.

He’s thankful to not be in the carriage any longer. He likes to walk, and he likes the woods, so he focuses on those things, tries to ignore the smell of _interest_ coming from the shaved headed Alpha.

It’s the first time Peter’s seen snow. It comes in flurries, gentle and unobtrusive, alighting on his face and leaving cold kisses behind. He quickly becomes cold, can’t help the shakes and tremors that take him. He isn’t used to this weather, and the clothes Schmidt gave him were more for decorum than for warmth. Still, warmer than his linen garbs.

The other two Alpha’s, Vanessa and Wade, lead the way, arguing back and forth with each other, under their breaths. Peter doesn’t get much from Vanessa. She’s an Alpha, but her scent is more subdued, still demanding attention and respect but in a way that’s not as obtrusive as her male counterparts. Perhaps she’s more mature, has a better understanding of herself and her biological placement.

The scarred Alpha is different. His scent is stronger but not in the same garish way as the other male Alpha. This scent is like the tang of cinnamon and spice, of the energy in the air before a storm.

It’s more comforting than Peter thought it would be for him. Wade’s bigger than any Alpha Peter’s seen. He’s broader, with an intimidating presence and frightening fangs. There were whispers in Peter’s village growing up, of Alpha’s like Wade. Alpha’s who fall into intense ruts, who can’t see past their own desires and arousals. Alpha’s that are prone to going feral less they find a mate early in life.

Just like male Omega’s are rumored to only give birth to male babes, Alpha’s like Wade, Alpha’s with red-rimmed eyes, are said to have a little bit of the devil in them.

Peter isn’t used to being around this many different Alpha pheromones, especially for drawn out spans of time, and it’s making his skin feel sensitive, making him feel antsy and restless. He knows, the longer he’s exposed, the less it will affect him.

Right now though, he’s too aware.

Schmidt complained in the beginning.

He tried to get water, food, some more cushioning for his swelling feet, but the bandits had laughed and jeered and Schmidt has now fallen quiet, suitably humbled.

Peter isn’t sure how much time has passed. The sun didn’t break through the clouds all day, so when Wade steers them into a clearing surrounded by dead trees and begins to clear the snow Peter assumes it’s getting late.

“We won’t be sleeping on the floor,” Schmidt informs them, and the look Wade sends his way is strong in its warning, “he–the Omega–”

“Peter,” Wade corrects offhandedly, “show some level of respect, Beta.”

Schmidt flushes, in either anger or shame Peter isn’t sure, but a weary appreciation helps distract him from the cold numbing of his bare hands.

“The–” it sounds like Schmidt is incapable of saying Peter’s name, “he will soon be Royalty. He cannot sleep on the ground.”

Peter wants to argue. He wants to butt in, but why bother making things worse when he can disconnect and pretend there are no ropes binding his hands?

Wade strides forward, Vanessa watching him wearily from where she’s gathering sticks for a fire.

“Ya know, I think _you_ don’t want to sleep on the ground,” Wade addresses, tilting his head and baring his fangs, “’cause lil’ Petey over there hasn’t said a damn word about it.”

Schmidt falls silent, after that.

Vanessa manages to gather enough dry wood to start a fire, and the three bandits huddle familiarly around it. Peter doesn’t bother trying to get close. Later, Francis ties him to the trunk of a nearby tree while an animal is rotating over the flames, the smell of sizzling meat almost intoxicating when Peter’s been fed only fruits and dried rabbit.

Francis gets too close, his nose brushing Peter’s neck. Peter freezes, heated fear stabbing through his chest and making his skin prickle. Over the fire, Peter catches Wade’s gaze.

“Well damn,” Francis mutters, a growl lacing his words, and Peter wants to cower, wants to bow away from the way the Alpha’s scent changes, “you smell a lot better now.”

Peter hasn’t broken eye contact with Wade, a part of him hoping the other Alpha intervenes but not expecting him to. Peter isn’t his prerogative.

Francis has nuzzled closer, and Peter presses back against the bark, uncaring of how it pricks at his skin if it means he’s able to put some distance between this Alpha and himself. He has to bite back on a whimper when Francis takes another indulgent inhale.

“Hey!” Wade barks, and he’s stood from where he’d been seated to stride across the clearing, his eyes sparking a deep red in the light of the fire and making him look hellish. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Francis pulls back, irritation coming off his scent in waves.

“Look, Wilson, I get that you don’t “do” Omegas, but this one smells fucking incredible,” Francis says, and Peter can see Vanessa scent the air, her nostrils flaring.

Peter’s never felt so helpless. He’s tied to a tree in the middle of the North with three horny Alphas and two useless Betas.

He wonders if the claustrophobic carriage was better than this.

Wade growls, a low warning rumble deep in his chest, and Peter’s glad he’s sitting or else his legs might have gone out.

Everyone in the clearing stills at the sound of it. Peter’s nails dig into his palms, hard enough to draw blood.

The bitter tang of it has Wade fuming.

“Step the fuck away,” Wade snarls, “he ain’t here for you to smell like you own him. You wanna keep fucking with him? I’ll rip your knot from your cock and force-feed it to you.”

Peter pales at the imagery, but more so at the utter sincerity of Wade’s scent. This anger isn’t directed towards him but he can sense it like he can sense the fire blazing behind them. Francis stands, his own eyes flashing but nothing close to the deep red of Wade’s.

Vanessa watches, not intervening, just observing. Peter wonders how often these two fight, if she would step in if they did go for each other’s throats.

“C’mon Francis,” Vanessa calls when neither Alpha moves, “come get some dinner.”

Francis looks like he wants to argue. He looks like he wants to snap, wants to bare his fangs in intimidation and signal a fight.

Wade looks like he wants him to.

“You’re not the damn leader,” Frances says as he marches past Wade, footsteps heavy on the white earth, “he ain’t your Omega either.”

Wade lets Francis stride past him, and Peter sees him take big, grounding breaths before his scent softens into something calmer, into a comfort more than a threat, and he glances at Peter with dark eyes.

“How often you get that?” he asks and Peter’s initially confused, still feeling a little frayed ever since Wade’s first growl.

“Get what?” Peter repeats, the adrenaline and pheromones leaving in a cold rush, abandoning Peter to shake in the chill of their departure.

“How often do you get strange Alphas scenting you?” Wade clarifies.

His hands are still fists at his side, like he’s physically restraining himself from hurting someone. Peter hopes its Francis he wants to hurt.

“I should get used to it,” Peter says, not sure why Wade is trying to talk to him when he’d been so against bringing Peter along in the first place, “with where I’ll be and all.”

“You’re for Prince Harry,” Wade says, carefully.

Peter can’t help but laugh at his naivety.

“You think the King won’t want a turn with me?” Peter asks and feels sick just admitting it out loud.

Wade pales, his expression hardening. He looks over his shoulder at his crew, and no one stares back. He rolls his shoulders before walking over, and Peter isn’t sure what he’s doing until the Alpha is crouching beside him and beginning to cut through the ropes holding him.

 _That_ gets everyone’s attention.

“What are you doing?” Peter asks, suddenly afraid, questioning whether or not he should run.

His tied hands will throw off his balance but it might be worth it to–

Warmth, heavy and gratifying, engulfs him. Peter goes still as Wade arranges them so Peter’s back is pressed against his chest, facing them away from the bandits and Schmidt and out to gaze at the dark forest instead.

“You’re gonna freeze with what you’re wearing,” Wade says, his voice rumbling low and soothing, and Peter wonders if Wade is even aware that his Alpha is reacting to a scared Omega, is yearning to comfort, “and that’d be a real shame.”

Peter swallows, still on edge, but Wade’s scent is nothing but gentle, his hold nothing but practical and reassuring. Peter, reluctantly, lets himself relax.

He’s never been held like this.

He feels oddly protected, but this Alpha isn’t someone he can trust. He’s a prisoner here, he has no free will. He can’t let himself react on pheromones. It isn’t safe.

It isn’t–

“Hey,” Wade whispers and Peter’s mind and his racing thoughts halt at the coaxing tone, “I’m not gonna hurt you, baby.”

Wade reaches down and unties the ropes from Peter’s wrists. Peter jolts, alarmed, and goes to turn to see him but Wade redirects his attention with a low rumble.

“Look,” he says, voice pitched low, scent still comforting and careful, “I ain’t a monster here. If you wanna run, run. But I can get you to the nearest town, where you can hitch a ride back to wherever the hell you came from, okay? I fucking hate King Osborn, and I hate his policies. I ain’t about to get into a fuckin’ slave trade because I want to be rich. You have your choices, lemme know what you wanna do with ‘em.”

Peter…Peter can’t comprehend that. He wants to ask so many questions but he knows the others are listening. Instead he settles, tries to relax his scent to let Wade know that he understands.

The Alpha’s arms tighten, and the world isn’t as cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol wrote this in 30 min cause work is SLOW. comments are my biggest motivation, so if you like pls let me know!


	3. take what I want when I wanna (and I want ya)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's gonna be a fight!

May would warn Peter about imprinting.

“You’re sensitive enough as it is,” she’d say, and he’d pout because he _was_ sensitive but didn’t want to be, “be careful of people who promise too much too soon.”

When Peter wakes he isn’t cold, but he’d rather be. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, to let his guard down completely, and the Alpha is still behind him, a statue of protective intent and maladapted intensity.

Aunt May’s warning rings in Peter’s ears, makes him nervous, and he shifts to disentangle himself, to look around the camp and see if anyone else is awake.

He’s going to run.

He’s going to take a pack, the one he’d seen the Beta Weasel hoarding, the one with the extra water and gold and food, and run.

He almost does. But a tingling of instinctive warning prevents him from moving.

He feels watched.

He makes to turn and see if the intuition is triggered because of someone in the group waking up but before he can move the Alpha’s arms tighten around him and Peter stills, not wanting to bring more unwanted attention to himself.

A voice in his head tells him to take the Alpha’s dagger and slit his throat.

It’s a violent, intrusive thought, and it makes Peter feel ashamed with himself.

“You should’ve run in the night,” Wade’s voice is pitched low, impossibly rougher with exhaustion, and Peter can’t help but tense when the Alpha’s breath coasts along the sensitive skin of his nape, “they’ll wake soon and go after you. Night is best, where the dark can cover you. Wait until tonight. I’ll help you, if that’s your decision.”

Peter swallows, restless and on edge.

“I’m not sure I can run,” he whispers, realization and clarity coming to him in the dawn, in the cold air and the shallow gathering of fallen snow.

Wade stirs behind him, groaning when his back pops, and Peter wonders if the Alpha was awake all night, watching the forest, watching to see Peter’s answer.

“It’s easy,” Wade grumbles, “one foot in front of the other.”

Irritation makes Peter’s scent spike unattractively.

“I know how to run dumbass,” Peter hisses, almost scared that Wade will snap his neck at his blatant impertinence, but the Alpha’s rumbling laugh soothes any unease Peter instantly felt, “that’s not what I mean.”

“No? Then tell me what you mean, honey, I’m not good at guessing games,” Wade sighs, stretching out his long legs and bracketing Peter in further.

If the larger man wasn’t preventing Peter from dying of hypothermia Peter would leave. Mostly in spite of how content his Omega side is at the moment.

 _This_ is why Peter’s avoided Alphas. He gets too distracted. And this Alpha’s smell is winter and pine and burnt wood, all comforts that Peter associates with the cold weather but never experienced in the South.

He’s never been _this_ affected by someone’s smell before. Never–

He stiffens and Wade feels it.

“Hey, you good? Shit do you need to take a piss? Did you piss your _trousers_? If you did it happens to the best of us. Also it’s freezing, a nice little warming up never hurt any–”

“Shut up,” Peter hisses, now actually trying to pull away because the last thing he needs is to imprint on the _first fucking Alpha_ to show him any kindness and this is _just_ what Aunt May had been warning him about his _entire life_ – “let me go!”

“Damn, stop squirming,” Wade snarls, and Peter almost claws his eyes out for attempting to tell Peter what he can and can’t do, “you just elbowed me in the balls!”

“Good let _go_ ,” Peter snaps, and Wade holds his hands up dramatically over his head.

“I ain’t touchin’ ya!” he exclaims, “You could’ve left whenever the fuck you wanted!”

The admission makes Peter jump to his feet, almost slipping in the wet slide of melting snow and not yet frozen mud. His heart his jackhammering wildly in his chest, cheeks flushed with emotion, and Wade is looking up at him, the scars on his face pale with the chill of the air.

He looks as confused and astonished as Peter feels.

If Wade wasn’t holding Peter to him then why did it feel like he was?

Peter _hates_ this.

He resolutely, completely, hates this entire backwater situation.

Vanessa stirs by the burnt out fire, the crescendo of their voices beginning to wake her. Peter tries to calm his scent, to make it into something unobtrusive and bland. He doesn’t think he succeeds, with the way Wade is instinctively scenting the air–and then promptly pinches his nostrils shut and turns away.

“Damn, you need more of those gross oils,” he grumbles, and Peter’s hands flex at his sides, “you…it’s your smell. Can smell it. Very smelly.”

“Why do I need to dampen my scent so _you’re_ comfortable?” Peter asks, genuinely enraged, “you should just keep your nose shut. Or control yourself.”

“I _am_ controlling myself,” Wade snaps, standing to his feet as well, but not posturing to his full height, choosing instead to keep his voice low and his back bowed, not threatening in the slightest, “you think any other Alpha in these forests will? Huh? You think everyone out there is gonna look the other way like a decent fucking human being? Let me tell ya something you should already know baby, this world fucking sucks, all right? It’s violent and selfish and no one is gonna change their ways to make _your_ life easier.”

Peter wants to hiss at Wade’s tone. He wants to let his fangs show his distaste in Wade’s words, in the Alpha’s know it all attitude. But the horrible, sobering part is that this Alpha is right.

And Peter knows it.

Peter looks warily over to the group, anxious that the others can smell his rising indignation. He’s surprised to find that Francis isn’t in the circle, but then reasons that the Alpha left to piss. Which means he’ll be back soon, and this conversation needs to wrap up–

“You are,” Peter says, and the Alpha’s constant red eyes flick over to him, assessing, “you…you’re not using your class to demean me.”

Wade seems to visibly hesitate, unsure about what to do with something that isn’t hate being thrown his way.

“Yeah, well, I’m fucked up,” Wade grumbles, crossing his large arms across his chest, and suddenly Peter’s cold again remembering the warmth that another body provided, “I ain’t no saint, honey. Don’t get fooled by me not being a rapist.”

Peter doesn’t respond.

He doesn’t have an answer.

Instead he shakes, pushing his hands under his armpits to try and keep the warmth in his chest.

Wade eyes him carefully, then lets out a frustrated snarl and undoes the ties of his cloak like he’s angry with the material. Peter takes a half step back, alert, before Wade drapes the heavy fabric over Peter’s shoulders and secures it around the Omega’s body like he’s been wronged somehow.

But Peter didn’t say anything to make the Alpha irritated.

“There,” he grumbles, not meeting Peter’s gaze, “don’t fuckin’ freeze. And give me your hands, I gotta tie ya back up.”

Peter opens his mouth to argue but Vanessa shifts over onto her side, yawning and stretching awake, so instead Peter holds out his hands and lets Wade rewrap the ropes.

“One more day,” Wade whispers, nose wrinkling at the short space between them, Peter’s smell even more accentuated this close up, “then you’re out.”

Peter wants to say it can’t work like that. He wants to tell Wade that there’s a reason he’s going to the King, that his village, his Aunt, will be killed if he doesn’t, but Peter’s doesn’t think Wade will understand that.

This Alpha is as stubborn as he is, and it’s obvious Wade wants Peter gone as soon as possible.

So Peter doesn’t say anything, and he let’s Wade kick Schmidt awake to apply more oil to his neck as Francis lumbers through the underbrush with two rabbits in his hand.

 

///

 

 

Wade’s cold but he can’t find it in himself to be angry about it because _Peter_ is warm, his cheeks now have color, and a part of him relaxes with the knowledge of that.

And that feeling, the protective, intense, warm feeling makes him nervous. He needs to get rid of this Omega _now_.

It’s fucking with his head.

He must be snarling, or grumbling, or _something_ equally as telling because Weasel elbows him in the ribs and the Beta is _so_ lucky that Wade can control his anger better than he used to or else his head would be rolling in the snow like a macabre kickball.

“The _fuck_?” Wade hisses, rubbing his side.

“You’ve been growling ever since we started walking,” Weasel tells him, glasses fogged over with the chill air, “it’s annoying.”

“ _You’re_ annoying but I’m not hitting you,” Wade argues, but takes more care to control his emotions as they continue through the slopping snow covered hills, frozen twigs snapping like dry bones beneath their boots.

Wade can’t help but look back at Peter, the Omega’s eyes skyward, like he’s taking in the snow, like he’s grateful to just be breathing fresh air. It’s kinda sad, Wade thinks. Vanessa stands beside him, Francis has the Beta doctor, and Wade sends Vanessa a nod he knows she’s interpreted appropriately.

Wade’s wanted to rip Francis’ throat since his first nasty comment to Peter yesterday, one more slip up from the Alpha and Wade can _feel_ how he’d break.

He needs to get laid. He needs to hunt. He needs to do _something_ to get this restless fire out of his veins before he’s burned alive.

Even with the oil Wade can smell the underlying pheromones of the Omega. He’s had a taste, and now his nose wants to smell nothing but that.

Wade blames Peter and his stupid nostalgic, summery scent. He blames himself for wanting more of it.

 

///

 

They walk until the trees part and lend the way to a dirt road, carriage tracks and footprints making the trail muddy and wet with slush.

Wade leads the group, hyperaware of every sound, every animal, and every breath around him. The paths to Frostbite are fraught with bandits, case in point: _Wade and co_ , but now they have gold on their persons and an Omega so the tables are unfairly turned.

Wade is itching to try out his new sword, however, so any fight he’ll welcome with enthusiastic gusto. The Beta guards yesterday couldn’t fight worth a damn, which is why they’re all dead and rotting in the ground.

There’s a part of Wade that wants to show off a little too. There’s a part of him that wants to make Peter impressed by his skills, by his undying leverage. Wade realizes that this is a primal want: an Alpha to impress an Omega is the beginnings of a courtship, and Wade has to bite his lip hard enough to bleed to get his mind out of those intrusive imaginings.

Less than a day, he tells himself. Less than a day and he’ll be rid of Peter and all the conflicting feelings the Omega brings.

A scent, harsh and bitter, makes Wade halt. Weasel runs into him because he’s a dumbass but everyone else catches on.

“You smell that?” Vanessa asks, and Wade’s hand is already settling on the hilt of his sword.

“Yeah,” Francis answers, sniffing obnoxiously, “three Alphas.”

“Five,” Wade corrects, a gleeful smile twisting his features, “you think we know them?”

“God you’re creepy,” Weasel mutters but steps back without Wade having to tell him to, “a creepy motherfucker– who gets this excited about a fight?”

Wade rolls his shoulders and hears Vanessa sigh.

“Want to take them, Wade?” she asks, and Wade looks over his shoulder to wink at her.

“Oh honey, this is the best foreplay ever.”

Vanessa rolls her eyes, gripping Peter’s arm and pulling him back, Francis following with an exasperated look on his face.

“What’s happening?” Peter asks, meeting Wade’s gaze, and Wade is struck with an overwhelming desire to not let a single drop of blood get on the Omega.

“There’s gonna be a fight,” Wade says, and wishes he could scent how Peter reacts, the oil blocking it from him and making his hands twist in frustration, “so maybe don’t look? Or do, but trigger warning: it’s gonna be violent.”

“We should hide the Omega,” Schmidt speaks up, the first time he’s spoken since this morning, “if these Alphas are thieves they shouldn’t get too close.”

“Shut up,” Francis sighs, “keep quiet and they won’t know.”

Wade doesn’t wait to see if Schmidt is going to argue. He doesn’t turn back around to assess Peter’s reaction to the unfolding events. All his attention is now on the five Alpha’s walking leisurely down the path, weapons larger than Wade’s arms, and eyes completely black.

Wade hasn’t seen soulless eyes in a long time.

It’s not usually a good sign. Maybe he should’ve stretched?

“Ness,” Wade whispers, and the Alpha is by his side in an instant, “new plan: get Peter outta here.”

She follows Wade’s gaze and immediately understands. She doesn’t insult Wade by asking him if he can handle this, or if he’ll be all right. Instead, she bends, picks Peter up, and _bolts_ through the snow in a blur of frantic colors.

The Alpha’s take note, and Wade steps between them.

So much for subtlety, but feral Alpha’s will kill anything. Doesn’t matter what you are. Besides, Wade reasons, striding forward and whistling low under his breath, you can’t spill the beans if you don’t have a head.

 

///

 

Vanessa drops Peter unceremoniously into a snowy bank, the cold immediately seeping through his clothes and making him jolt.

“Stay silent,” she hisses, the command in her words alarming enough that Peter doesn’t think to argue.

He’s about to ask what that was, wants to ask what Wade thinks he’s doing, but steel on steel rings through the air like a ivory war horn and Peter presses back against the large tree behind him as Vanessa crouches over his legs, a shield from anything that might come their way.

Perhaps she isn’t so bad, Peter thinks.

It sounds brutal, and last long enough that Peter begins to worry. There’s been screaming, and snapping, and horrible, horrible sounds that makes images of blood and gore and excessive nightmares burn along Peter’s vision.

The copper stench of blood and urine is overpowering.

There’s a moment where Peter doesn’t think Wade will make it out and he wants to tell Vanessa to go help him, wants to ask if he can be untied so he may help, but then everything falls silent and the earth holds a collective breath.

Silence is more terrifying than violence.

Vanessa presses closer, pushing Peter back and lending the comfort of her scent to keep them both levelheaded.

Peter shifts, the snow crunching, and Vanessa shoots him a stern, warning look. Peter glances over where Schmidt and Francis and Weasel are hidden, crouching a ways back behind the bend of a cluster of dead trees. Peter doesn’t care about what happens to them.

He’s worried about Wade. A strange, nagging sensation in his chest that feels hollow. Feels like a loss. But would he lose anything? Would he? His Omega thinks he would.

Footsteps, ominous in the quiet, makes everyone tense further. Peter wants to peek around the trunk of the tree and see whose approaching. The smells in the air are so convoluted and drenched that he can’t distinguish who is impending.

A low growl begins to build in Vanessa’s chest, one that makes the hairs on the back of Peter’s arms stand on end.

It’s a warning, deep and soulful, and Peter isn’t sure if he’s heard anything like it before.

The footsteps halt, and there’s a horrifying moment of absolution.

Then a mangled face is peering beyond the tree, black eyes gleaming, nose flaring, and Peter feels the caught.

The Alpha opens its mouth, fangs grotesque, expression twisted in its own torment, and a strangled howl pierces through its lips just as–

A blade, sharp and shining steel, punctures through the creature’s throat. Blood sprays out, staining the snow and landing warm on Peter’s cheek, before the Alpha gurgles and crumbles like a shattered pillar to the forest floor. Peter’s heart is jolting, adrenaline making him feel on edge and fearful out of his skin. He tries not to look at the bloody pile of broken Alpha and horrible pheromones but he can’t tear his gaze away.

Can’t look away.

“Whoo! That’s what I needed, damn,” Wade’s voice groans, and Peter sees the Alpha’s gloved hands retrieve the sword from the other Alpha’s throat and still he can’t look away.

“That was cutting it too close, Wade,” Vanessa snaps, agitation clear in her voice and her scent as she stands from her protective crouch, “shit, where the hell is your arm?”

Peter looks up, immediately. He almost passes out.

Wade’s standing tall, way too confident and cocky for someone who has a horrible chunk ripped out of his arm, a large, deep gash that’s all ruined tendons and bubbling muscle.

Peter is going to throw up.

Wade rolls his shoulders like the bite is an itch, and he glances down at Peter with red _red_ eyes.

“They were bitey,” he tells Vanessa without looking at her, “Petey, you look horrible.”

“Better than you,” Peter says, his voice weak and rough.

Wade tsks, disapproving, and bends so that he can wipe the blood from Peter’s cheek with his thumb. It was the least of Peter’s concerns but apparently all of Wade’s.

“It’ll heal,” Wade says, way too cavalier, “I always heal. Like a cockroach, baby, just a scratch.”

Peter stares on in alarmed bewilderment as Wade’s skin begins to knit itself back together. Wade appears uncaring but Peter can smell the pain on him, the hurt, and he swallows the bile rising in his throat so he can stand and take a half step forward, knowing from books that an Omega’s scent can be calming to a hurt Alpha, and vice versa.

He remembers when Wade jolts back that his scent is made to be unassuming, unattractive and _wrong_. For the first time in his life he wants an Alpha to scent him, and for the first time in his life he’s frustrated that an Alpha _can’t_.

“Jesus Christ Wade,” Weasel’s grumbling, shambling out from his cover and taking in the scene of pure carnage, “did you have to gut _all_ of them?”

Wade doesn’t look away from Peter.

“’Course I did,” he answers as his arm heals.

 _Heals_.

It’s as disturbing as it is fascinating. Peter’s oddly entranced. Wade must misread it as disgust because he angles himself self-consciously so that Peter can’t see his injury.

His smile is strained.

“Curses and all that shit,” he tells Peter off-handedly, “messy stuff, baby.”

“Curses,” Peter repeats, awed and enrapt, “right.”

Peter doesn’t believe in curses. He doesn’t believe in witches or fairies or anything supernatural like that. But Wade’s arm is healing itself and Peter has nothing else to blame it on.

And then his attention turns to the horrid, rancid smell of death beyond Wade’s shoulder. He catches a glimpse of a white earth stained red before Wade’s stepping in front of him and blocking his view.

“You don’t gotta see that,” he tells Peter, soft and with discretion, “you shouldn’t see that.”

Peter wonders what would have happened if Wade hadn’t been the bandit that reached him first. What if it had been these feral robbers? Peter doubts he’d be alive.

He looks up at the cursed Alpha with a newfound resolve.

“Train me,” he says.

Wade blinks.

“Uh,” he laughs, awkward, thinking that Peter’s taunting but when Peter doesn’t smile Wade clears his throat, looking at Vanessa to a guidance she doesn’t give, “what?”

“Train me to fight,” Peter elaborates, then pushes when Wade looks like he’s about to argue, “I’ll be dead in an instant, Wade. I’ve never been trained to take care of myself. What am I going to do if you’re not here?”

Something in there strikes a nerve. Something that Peter said has Wade’s eyes flashing, hardening, his scent changing from the forced comfort to a mixture of possessiveness and anger.

Peter realizes then that Wade’s lost someone. That he lost someone who couldn’t defend themselves.

A soft look crosses Wade’s features, chasing away some of the bitter edge.

“All right baby boy,” Wade grins, and Peter kind of regrets his request at the fiery spark in the Alpha’s eyes, “lets get dirty.”

Someone sputtering captures Peter and Wade’s attention. Schmidt is standing off, looking at them with a red face, tight features pulled tighter in his indignation.

“You got something you wanna say, sparky?” Wade asks, fangs flashing in the meek rays of sun.

The Beta looks like he’s about to bust a vein. He gestures to the dead bodies wildly, then back at Peter with an affronted sort of snarl.

“He’s an _Omega_!” Schmidt cries, sounding like a child throwing a tantrum and his wild temper has Peter bristling. “He can’t fight! Omegas bones are weak! They’re susceptible to _everything_! He’s too emotional, too unpredictable, too–”

“You’re the one losing your head,” Peter states coolly, eyes narrowing, “and you’re calling me emotional?”

Schmidt _snaps_ , enraged at being talked down to, enraged that these _thieves_ have taken his authority and made him into a mockery. He marches over and grabs Peter by the front of his garb, and Peter sneers at the rough handling.

“You will be taken to the Alpha King,” Schmidt hisses, neglecting the sharp red eyes turning to him, “you will learn humility. You will learn obedience. He’ll train you the way a good Omega should be. Like a dog–”

Peter kicks him in the crotch.

Wade’s bolstering laugh echoes across the forest as Vanessa loses her anger and turns away, hand ruffling Peter’s hair as she strides over to the others who have long since lost interest.

Schmidt crumbles, whimpering in the snow, a huge vein standing prominent in his neck. Peter kind of wants to kick him again.

“Damn baby, right in the family jewels!” Wade’s still laughing, like this is the funniest thing he’s ever seen, and Peter looks over, amused, as Wade doubles over, bracing himself on his knees as his shoulders shake with mirth.

“You see what I have to deal with, Wade?” Peter asks, crossing his arms and trying to sound stern but failing in the face of the Alpha’s delight, “It’s annoying.”

“That it is honey,” Wade wheezes, pulling himself together and letting out a loud contented sigh, his scent nothing but pure unadulterated joy, “what do you need my help for? You seem fine without any training.”

Peter stiffens, about to argue, but Wade must pick up in the changing of his scent because he’s cooing and stepping closer, looking like he wants to reach out and touch but stopping before he follows through.

“Aw, don’t look at me like that,” the Alpha rumbles, voice deepening into something coaxing and entirely unfair, “I’ll still train ya. But don’t kill the good doc, he’s got the heavy shit.”

Peter grumbles, shooting Schmidt one last dirty look.

He still feels a little shaky, a little on edge from the wasted adrenaline, but the cold air certainly helps clear his head.

“Thank you,” Peter whispers, low enough that Schmidt can’t hear him from where he’s staggering to his feet, “for…I don’t know. Not selling or raping me.”

Wade growls at just the thought, and Peter’s surprised that he knows it’s not directed to him.

“Lets go,” Wade says, all previous childish glee shaken from him, “we need to reach town. Get off the roads.”

“All right,” Peter agrees, following beside, and is pleased when Wade doesn’t move away this time.

 

///

 

“Are you fucking crazy?” Francis hisses and Wade looks up from the fox he killed.

“Uh, yeah? Where have you been?” Wade asks but is immediately on guard by the aggressive scent coming off of Francis in waves.

His eyes dart to where Peter sits down below, Vanessa teaching him how to properly skin a rabbit. A strange feeling stirs in Wade’s gut at the sight.

“Look at me,” Francis snaps in front of Wade’s face, stealing his attention, “you fucking _imprinted_ on the Omega we’re bargaining with! Why isn’t he tied up? What if he runs?”

Wade snarls, his lips curling over his fangs in warning.

“I didn’t imprint on the kid,” Wade says, and if the fox’s neck wasn’t snapped before it would be now with how hard Wade’s gripping it, “the hell’s up with you?”

Francis’ eyes flash.

“You’re treating him like he’s one of us,” Francis explodes, his voice carrying through the trees and making Wade feel fierce, “he isn’t! He’s a _hostage_. What’s goin’ on in that meat shaved brain of yours, huh? Two days ago you couldn’t stomach the smell of an Omega and now you’re gonna fucking train one? Protect one? Scent–”

“I haven’t scented him,” Wade interrupts, growl dangerous, “but I’m not a fuckin’ slave trader. I ain’t about to give him to the King to pass through his palace like a toy. I ain’t doin’ that.”

Francis steps right up into Wade’s space, their chests nearly touching and Wade’s holding himself back by a _thread_ –

“We’re _selling_ him,” Francis hisses, “we’re gonna get fucking _rich_ and you’re gonna get your head out of your touch-starved ass or step the fuck aside. If you can’t handle the Omega then I–”

Wade has his sword under Francis’ chin in the blink of an eye, the fox dead and forgotten by their feet.

“Finish that sentence,” Wade growls, his voice so low and consumed it’s barely distinguished, “I fuckin’ dare you.”

He’s so zoned in on Francis that he wasn’t even aware of Vanessa approaching but as soon as a hand lands on his shoulder he nearly bites it off.

“Wade,” Vanessa soothes, calming her scent to something non-threatening, “control your rage.”

“I’m gonna _gut_ him,” Wade sneers pressing closer, the blade of his sword making a nice nick in Francis’ throat, “say one more word about hurting him and I swear to fuckin’ hell–”

A scent, sweet and calm and _home_ , reaches Wade’s senses. He freezes, every muscle in his body pulling taunt. Francis is staring at Wade with wide, unbelieving eyes. Wade turns, slowly, to follow the smell.

Peter’s standing where him and Ness had been settled, looking up at Wade with a furrowed brow and imploring eyes and Wade–

Wade–

Drops his sword and steps away from Francis like he’d been _scorched_. Francis’ gaze never leaves him, alarm and surprised disbelief coloring his features, making the cut on his neck barely noticeable.

Wade’s shaking, a violent head to toe tremble. He can feel Francis' eyes on him, cataloguing his reaction, taking in it, proving his _point_ –

Peter's smell calms the crazy. Speaks to the wild. Wade, with iron will, faces Francis again. 

"You don't touch him," Wade says with a heavy sense of finality before pushing past Vanessa and walking down the snowy slope, leaving the dead fox to freeze in the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowowow thanks for the amazing support guys!!! pls keep it up it's fueling me lol


	4. bad, bad news- one of us is gonna lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smells smelly smelly smells

Wade has always despised the Goblin King.

To be fair, most of the North despised the self-righteous, lunatic Alpha. He’s started wars, raids, and feuds. He’s scorched the earth and farms because he had a bad dream about hellfire and fairies. He's raped and theived and bargained and Wade remembers when he was seven, standing amongst a gathered crowd as the King paraded down the Kingdom of Fell’s streets.

Wade’s mother had held him close to her chest and had whispered in his ear, “beware of those who take because they hold the right.”

Wade hadn’t understood what she’d meant at the time.

When the King burned their first home, charred the crops and the animals and the beds, Wade had finally understood.

 

/// 

They stay off the main roads, after the Ferals.

Peter has no idea how Wade knows where to go– everything looks the same: white bark peeling from trees, no leaves, no foliage, everything covered in snow and frost and barren.

Peter fantasizes about being in a pub, the warmth of it, dark wood holding in the small candlelight against its polished surface. He pictures sitting at a corner table with a warm drink and watching snow fall delicately from the frosted panes outside.

It’s a daydream that makes him nostalgic for something he’s never had.

Wade’s stuck by his side since the Feral Alphas, no wandering ahead or away, his presence a solid consistency that Peter wasn’t aware he needed until the Alpha broke away to hunt for lunch.

Without thinking Peter reaches out and grabs the fur Wade had added onto his person that morning. His hands are no longer tied, the pretense of being a hostage lost the moment Wade told Peter he was always free to leave.

Wade stills, and Peter lets go immediately, realizing that the Alpha probably doesn’t want Peter to be touching him.

He feels Schmidt’s eyes on them and resolutely ignores it.

“I can help,” Peter says, hoping that he sounds sure even as his teeth can’t help but chatter in the cold, “I used to hunt. For my Aunt.”

Wade stares, expression unreadable. Francis scoffs, and draws both of their attentions.

“An Omega hunting? What _is_ there down South to hunt? Squirrels?” Francis asks, not bothering to hide the hard mocking edge of his doubt.

Peter squares his shoulders, staring at the Alpha defiantly.

“Mountain wolves,” Peter tells him, unflinchingly, “cats larger than the stags you have here.”

Francis laughs, looking about the party like they’ll join him in finding Peter ridiculous. No one does.

“Look, Omega,” Francis begins, making to step forward, “you’re our _hostage_. You shouldn’t even be untied. You–”

“I haven’t run,” Peter interrupts, and Wade’s presence beside him gives him courage to continue, “if I do I won’t get far. I know that. But I can be useful for hunting, at least.”

Francis is staring, obviously about to say no, so Peter softens his voice and tilts his head, just barely, a subtle show of respect but not far enough to be submission.

“Please.”

Wade stiffens, for reasons Peter doesn't have time to question, but Peter's show of respect works because the other Alpha simply scoffs and gestures them away.

Wade turns without further prompting, stomping through the forest like the ground has personally offended him and Peter hurries to follow. After some time Peter can’t take the tense silence any longer.

“Did I do something?” Peter asks and he can’t see Wade’s face but he can hear the Alpha sigh, his shoulders slumping.

“No,” he says, then mentally backtracks, “you shouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?” Peter questions, focusing on keeping his steps light because they are supposed to be hunting and Wade’s being louder than all hell.

Wade stops, and Peter nearly runs into him.

“Don’t make yourself small,” Wade says, not meeting Peter’s eyes, “don’t make yourself weak just to appease them.”

Peter crosses his arms, irritation making him flush.

“Wade, I’m an _Omega_ ,” Peter begins, watching the way Wade’s jaw ticks in agitation he’s trying not to show, “Francis doesn’t have the same views that you and I share. How else was I to handle that? With _anger_? I can be beaten for that. Killed.”

“I’d watch your back,” Wade says, and it’s such a low, hidden admission that Peter strains to hear it, “you think I’d let him touch you?”

“That’s not it,” Peter pushes, trying to soften his scent so as to not rouse Wade further, “Francis is not the first stuck-up Alpha I’ll have to deal with, and he isn’t the last. That’s the way I survive. This is what I _have_ to do. You won’t be by my side in a few days, what will you have me do then? Walk into Osborn’s palace and _argue_?”

Wade’s eyes flash _red_.

“I thought you weren’t going there,” he says, a deep growling rumble, “you’re leaving–”

“I told you I can’t run,” Peter hisses, his helplessness and frustration burning through his words, “I’m a _transaction_! The South isn’t as structured as the North. It’s village to village, border to border, and I need to protect my home.”

“So _what_? You’re a martyr? They can’t fight their own goddamn battles?” Wade argues, his own anger stagnant and heavy in the air and Peter doesn’t understand _why_ this Alpha even _cares_ – “You’re fighting this fucked up tug of war for them?”

“Yes! This has been my purpose since I was _born_ , your refusal to see this clearly doesn’t change–“

“Your village is just gonna give you up? That easy? You’re just gonna go along with being the Prince’s personal _whore_?”

“I don’t need you to tell me my life,” Peter’s nearly yelling, his own growl working into his words, and he presses closer so that Wade is forced to meet his gaze and hold it, not that the Alpha has even tried to _blink_ , “you think I don’t know what they’re going to do to me? You think I’m not aware of how fucking _sick_ and out of control my entire existence has been? You’re ignorant to think I can just run, that I can just _leave_ –”

“Then I’ll help you,” Wade interrupts, his fangs sharp in contrast to the delicate snow, and the blatant display of them has something stirring in Peter’s gut.

Peter ignores it. He’s still fucking pissed.

“What are you going to do, _Alpha_? Kill the Goblin King?” Peter snaps.

Wade recoils, nostrils flaring, eyes red in the gloom of the forest, and Peter should be terrified, he _should_ be scared, but if the worst thing that happens is this Alpha killing him then he at least won’t have to live through the hell that King Osborn will submit him to.

Wade stares, intense, and it takes everything in Peter to not look away.

“Yes,” Wade answers, so sincere that it’s Peter’s turn to fumble. “If it has to come to that.”

“You’re not serious,” Peter laughs, the sound bitter and hurt, frustrated tears pricking at his eyes, “that’s a cruel joke, Wade.”

“Pete I ain’t laughing,” Wade responds, stepping closer, “scent me.”

Peter takes an involuntary step back, shock and alarm making him freeze. His heart is hammering in his chest, so strong that Peter’s scared he’ll crack a rib. He’s never scented someone before.

 _Especially_ not an Alpha.

“What?” he croaks, all anger gone, replaced with nerves so hot he’s warm in the cold.

His breath stutters when Wade reaches up and pulls the furs back, exposing the side of his scarred throat. Peter, dazed, can’t believe how vulnerable Wade is making himself right now. When Peter doesn’t move, doesn’t make to step closer Wade takes a deep breath and bares his throat more, a submission that only Omega's are expected to take.

“Smell that I’m not lying,” Wade says, calm in the face of Peter’s bewilderment. “I won’t bite.”

Peter can say no.

He can leave and Wade will let him. And those realizations, that he can do what he wants and Wade will respect that, is what has him walking into the Alpha’s space and hesitantly, carefully, pressing his nose against the scent glands on Wade’s neck.

Wade’s skin is warm.

The furs tickle Peter’s chin.

This feels like a tipping point. Hesitantly, Peter closes his eyes and inhales.

Wade smells like bonfire and cinnamon and smoke. He smells like Peter’s fantasies of warm pubs and safe hearths. And he smells sincere.

Peter doesn’t mean to relax. He doesn’t mean for every muscle in his body to simultaneously unclench. The anxiety and anger he’s been harboring are barely felt. He understands now, why this is such an intimate act. He knows Wade wants to protect him. He knows that Wade has imprinted, at least a little, onto him.

It takes all the strength Peter harbors to step away from Wade.

He swallows, and when he meets Wade’s gaze it’s like looking into a flame.

“We can’t kill the King,” Peter decides, “and I can’t run.”

Wade wants to argue, Peter can tell. Maybe it’s because Peter scented him but now Wade’s emotions are clearer, his intentions as obvious as the snow and cold and defeat around them. He waits for an impending argument and is surprised when instead Wade turns away, traipsing back through the snow.

“Fine,” Wade says, his voice booming through the trees, “I’ll kill him and you do whatever the hell you want.”

Peter’s frozen in shock.

He feels a lot of many, many different things. But the more prominent one is a hopeless melancholy because Wade left and took all the warmth with him.

He half expects Wade to keep walking but the Alpha stops and turns, garnering Peter’s attention.

“Well c’mon,” Wade sighs, “we’re getting food and I’m teaching you how to fight. If you’re gonna be a stubborn pain in my ass at least you’ll be able to defend yourself.”

The backlash of emotions makes Peter overwhelmed but he hurries after Wade regardless, and soon even Wade’s scent smooths out into something unassuming and earthy. His footfalls become softer, his breathing is measured, calculated, and the snow drops and melts against pale scarring of his skin.

He’s attractive, Peter thinks, a little offhandedly, a little matter-of-fact.

Peter manages to snag a rabbit with a small hunting knife Wade gave him, and the expression on Wade’s face is more rewarding than catching a small animal with his bare hands.

“What?” Peter asks, smiling as he cocks out his hip and swings the rabbit in front of him. “Didn’t think I could do it?”

“Nah,” Wade snorts, any tension the two of them held melting away under the calm reprieve of a winter afternoon, “just didn’t think you’d look that good doin’ it.”

Peter _doesn’t_ blush. And he _doesn’t_ stutter, caught up and tongue-tied, Wade’s loud laughter not helping anything.

Peter’s pretty sure no one has flirted with him before. He doesn’t know what to do with it. So he throws the rabbit at Wade and feels a little accomplished when it smacks him in the nose.

Peter isn’t sure how long they hunt through the woods, no time to leave snares or wait in trees, it’s become all about strategy and agility. Peter’s faster, but Wade is stronger, and it’s a good balancing act for the larger game.

Soon they’ve caught another stag, a rabbit, and two squirrels, and Peter looks down at their bounty, heart beating fast with the exertion, feeling proud in his efforts.

“Who knew you were such a spitfire hunter?” Wade asks as he bends to throw the stag over his broad shoulders, “I thought Royals just twiddled their thumbs and tried not to jerk off.”

Peter makes a face, looping the rabbits about his neck so his hands are free for the hike back.

“Not a Royal,” Peter reminds, matching Wade’s pace through the snow, “and why the hell wouldn’t I jerk off?”

Peter really needs to think before he talks.

The look Wade shoots him is heavy in both teasing and delight.

“Wait–” Peter begins, trying to beat Wade to the punch.

“You tell me Petey,” Wade hums, dark eyes swooping over Peter’s form exaggeratedly, “’cause I think with a bod like that you should be jerking off all the–”

Peter hits him with the rabbit again but it doesn’t stop the blush that stains his cheeks.

“When are you going to train me anyway?” Peter asks, loudly, because Wade’s still trying to be a dumbass and he’s over it.

Although there is a small part of him preening under the attention, under the genuine interest in Wade’s scent. Peter wonders if Wade realized what kind of power he was giving to Peter by letting the Omega scent him. Wade’s smell, which before Peter could catch on the wind, or when the Alpha was aggravated, was often dampened, hidden beneath layers and layers of earthy musk. Now it’s clear, the cinnamon almost tingling on Peter’s nose, the bonfire ripe on his own senses.

He wonders what he smells like to Wade.

“Tonight,” Wade huffs, “or after lunch. Or tomorrow morning, I dunno. Not now,” he says at Peter’s look, “Ness gets feral when she’s hungry.”

Peter smiles at the joke, and turns his attention forward to the sloping hills. They walk in measured, comfortable silence until Peter’s curiosity gets the best of him and he can’t stay quiet any longer.

“What do I smell like?” he asks and Wade trips over his feet in surprise and nearly face-plants.

“Uh,” Wade stutters, a pink blush high on his cheeks, and Peter has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the stupefied expression, “what?”

“What do I smell like to you?” Peter pushes, uncaring of the Alpha’s unease. “Do you want me to tell you what you scent like to me?”

“This…hell, Petey, this can’t be a normal conversation,” Wade begins, looking everywhere but at Peter.

“You smell like cinnamon,” Peter says and Wade’s eyes dart to him, alarmed, “and fire. It’s…really comforting.”

“Huh,” Wade whispers, relaxing a little at Peter’s admission, “what do the others smell like to you?”

Peter wrinkles his nose.

“They’re not as clear,” Peter says, “I can really only smell their emotions.”

“You can’t scent them?” Wade asks, brows furrowing. “Is that common for Omegas?”

Peter shrugs.

“You’re the first Alphas I’ve had any real exposure to,” Peter says, suddenly feeling a little antsy, a little uncertain, “but I just scented you so that’s probably why you’re the most clear.”

“Right,” Wade says, voice thick and Peter begun this conversation with innocent intentions but now it’s becoming something a lot more real, “could you smell me before I let you scent?”

It’s a dangerous question because the answer is yes. And Peter, heart hammering, face warm, is beginning to realize why that is.

And it’s too much.

“No,” he lies, clearing his throat, “so nevermind my question. You’d have to scent me to know my smell, we can keep goi–”

“Warmed earth,” Wade interrupts, and Peter turns to meet the Alpha’s unflinching gaze, “you smell like azaleas, those flowers in the South. Summer. It’s nice. Without those oils.”

Peter swallows, unable to look away.

“You…you haven’t scented me,” Peter whispers and his heart stutters at Wade’s resigned, defeated smile.

“I know,” the Alpha says, and pushes past Peter to lead the way back up the hill but all Peter can think of is the unmistakable proof that they’ve imprinted and they’re compatible.

 

///

 

Schmidt is a simple man.

He has a job; he does it to the best of his abilities. He doesn’t require bribing like the King, doesn’t need to be swaddled like the Prince. He just needs his potions and his herbs and his orders and he’s content.

His job was to get the Omega presentable for King Osborn. His job was to make sure the Omega is unsullied, untouched, and unharmed. This scarred Alpha is pleasantly fucking all of that up.

The Omega being imprinted on by a thieving knot head bandit is the _opposite_ of Schmidt doing his job. And if Schmidt doesn’t do his job he dies.

It’s simple, really.

“The fuck is that?” the nasally voice of the other Beta sounds too close to Schmidt’s shoulder and Schmidt nearly jumps out of his skin in surprise.

He looks up from where he’d been skinning a Red Root, the smell of it potent and almost dizzying. Schmidt’s come to the conclusion that the Omega needs to smell worse, needs to be horrid and rancid to be around. Red Root is good for two things: suppressants and sickness.

A pliant Omega is a good Omega, and if they only have a few more nights with these Bandits until the King’s ransom reaches their hands then Schmidt is going to have to do everything in his power to stay alive.

“For the Omega’s oils,” Schmidt tells the Beta, turning away to continue his work.

“It smells worse than usual,” the Beta comments and Schmidt wishes the other man would take his turned back for the blatant hint it is to leave him alone.

“Yes, well, we’ve run out of the others and the Omega’s heat might come sooner because he’s close to all these new pheromones,” Schmidt wheezes, breaking the Red Root and letting the liquid pool into one of his vials.

The Beta chokes behind him. Good.

“Yeah we…we don’t want that shit,” Weasel comments, and still doesn’t leave.

Schmidt turns to look over his shoulder at the other Beta, who’s watching him with a careful scrutiny that puts the doctor on edge.

“My mom used to sniff that shit,” Weasel says, offhandedly, dark eyes shrewd and calculating, “knocked her out for days.”

Schmidt doesn’t reply, just waits for the Beta to either continue or go.

“You’re kind of a fucked up doctor,” Weasel sighs and then turns, walking back in the direction of the impromptu camp for the evening.

Traveling had slowed down since the attack, the bandits leading them off the trail and through the back paths of the forest in case more feral Alphas had taken to the main road, and it’s added another two days to their journey to Frostbite.

Schmidt is itching to get into the village, itching to see the Goblin King’s guards poised along the tall walls. He wants this job over and done with as soon as possible. He’s already going to be beaten for the delay; he’d rather not add more inconveniences on top of the ones already stacked.

Schmidt finishes bleeding the root, adds some Salvia, and _grinds_.

 

///

 

Night has fallen, and with it more snow.

The bandits have taken out furs from their packs and draped it about themselves, prepared for this kind of weather shift and knowing how to adapt. Weasel throws a small fur at Schmidt, and the doctor gathers it up greedily, despite the pungent scent of Alpha emanating from the stiches.

He won’t complain about added warmth.

Vanessa started a fire while Francis and Wade went out to hunt, and Schmidt stands and staggers over to where the Omega is sitting by the flames, the fire flicks red and orange across his pale skin. He’s an attractive young man, suitable for a King and a Prince, and Schmidt hopes that his beauty will be enough to lessen the sentence against him.

“Chin up Omega,” Schmidt says as he crouches beside the kid, “your smell’s coming through again.”

Dark brown eyes regard Schmidt with their usual distaste but for once the man doesn’t argue, just sets his jaw and tilts his head to the side so that Schmidt can rub the oil over his glands.

The Omega’s lucky it’s Schmidt who’s applying this, any Alpha getting this close to an Omega’s neck would be sent into a daze almost instantaneously, and this kid’s smell is stronger than any Schmidt’s encountered before. A gag draws the doctor’s attention to the female Alpha, whose pinching her nose, expression tight with displeasure.

“The fuck is that?” she hisses, the fire making her eyes look ominous and challenging, “it’s worse than your usual mixtures.”

“Precautionary,” Schmidt answers, keeping his tone level as he uncaps the oil vial and draws out the glass with the Red Root and Salvia, “as is this.”

“What’s that?” Peter asks, flinching back at the smell, and even Vanessa looks on edge, pacing almost agitatedly on the other side of the fire.

“Your dear Aunt told me you have a heat soon,” Schmidt lies, and a mixture of emotions crosses the Omega’s face too fast for Schmidt to try and decipher them, “a sip of this will help delay it. The last thing we need is more Feral’s catching onto your smell because you refused to take a little medicine.”

The end of that is directed towards Vanessa, to appease the Alpha’s instinctive inclination to care for an agitated Omega.

It’s strange, the motherly kind of bond this female has formed with Peter. Schmidt doesn’t like it, hates it almost as much as the imprinting of the scarred Alpha, but if this works it’ll keep the bandits at bay and get them to where they should be by now.

“Drink it,” Schmidt hisses, “or would you like to lose your mind in the middle of the North with these Alphas?”

Peter swallows, looking like he wants to argue, but thankfully he says nothing, just sticks out his tongue and lets Schmidt drop some of the mixture into his mouth. The Omega’s face scrunches in distaste, but he swallows and that’s all Schmidt needs to see.

“Good boy,” the doctor derides before pushing to his feet and moving to sit behind the Omega against a nearby tree.

“It’s smells absolutely terrible,” Vanessa grumbles, shooting Peter an apologetic look. “But the smoke is helping dilute it from here.”

“Oh good,” Schmidt hears Peter mutter, “I’ll smell like a _cooked_ dead thing.”

 

///

 

“Jesus Hell, who let the doc go crazy?” is Wade’s first words when he comes into the clearing, Francis not even making it around to Peter, instead choosing to huddle next to Vanessa on the other side of the fire where Peter’s faux scent is weakest.

Peter tries not to feel hurt by Wade’s reaction, knows that Schmidt is making the oil exceptionally pungent, but he feels tired and horribly dizzy so he doesn’t respond, just tries to focus on the stone by his foot to stop the forest from blurring.

“Supposed to help delay the kid’s heat,” Vanessa snipes, eyeing where Schmidt is munching on the small bones of a recently killed rabbit, “or something.”

Wade shakes his head, dropping a large stag-like animal at Francis and Weasel’s feet so they can begin preparing it.

“No offense baby, but I’m gonna park myself over here for a sec–” Wade begins and Peter just nods, not even hearing him, because he feels like absolute _shit_ , can’t focus on anything, and his head is going to _burst_ , it’s pounding so hard–

The smoke from the fire isn’t helping.

He feels too hot in his skin, itchy almost, with how sick he is.

Sleep will help– sleep, and the cold, and to close his eyes and block out everyone talking because these things are too much right now and even quiet voices are unbearably loud. Peter makes to stand but underestimates how dizzy and off-balance he is because one moment he’s standing and the next he’s tilted into the snow.

He’s pretty sure his nose is bleeding from how he landed but he can’t focus on that.

Is he going to throw up?

His head is trapped in a strange sort of pressure, worse because of the rancid smells that Schmidt applied on his glands, an area already prone to oversensitivity. Peter shouldn’t have let the doctor near him.

He tries to push himself up but his hands don’t lend the support. He’ll just stay here then, the cold is nice and he can’t feel anything but the swooping pressure in his head–

Wade’s scent hits him like a freight train. It’s spiked with nervous anxiety and it really isn’t helping–

“Whoa, easy, hey, I’m gonna wipe this oil off you honey–” Wade’s says, voice low and soothing, cold bare hands brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead in a gesture that’s too soft and intimate for their circumstance.

“Don’t touch the oil!” Schmidt snaps, but Peter can’t focus on him, he’s entirely entranced by Wade, and Wade’s touch and Wade’s voice and Wade’s scent sending waves of comfort and calm now that he knows Peter isn’t too hurt.

“The fuck do you mean don’t touch it? It’s makin’ him sick!” Wade barks, slipping a hand under Peter’s head so he can press a snow damp cloth beneath his bleeding nose.

“The first dose of Red Root is always the hardest,” Schmidt answers, and Peter can _feel_ Wade tense, “it’ll get easier in time–”

“Red root,” Wade repeats, and Peter nearly whimpers when the Alpha shifts, almost like he’s going to pull away, but he _can’t_ pull away because he’s the only thing keeping Peter’s head from bursting– “that shit’s for fucking surgeries and drugging yourself to oblivion _not_ muting scents!”

“Can you scent him?” Schmidt counters, tone more on edge and frazzled than Peter’s ever heard, even with the Beta sounding like he’s underwater, “Can you smell him at all?”

Wade’s hesitation is answer enough. Schmidt knows this, and pushes on.

“He is a _ransom_. He is for the _King_. Who knows what else is in the woods to take him? He’ll feel better by morning but my job is to keep the Omega safe and that’s what I’m doing. Do you know what herbs are best for Omegas? Are safest for heats? Take this medicine from him and we are all at risk.”

There’s a heavy silence, one fraught with tension and unease, and Peter wishes he felt well enough to tell Wade that this _isn’t_ helping, that just the oil is fine, that the Red Root is making him feel drugged and shaky and out of his mind–

The Alpha’s hand gently cleans the blood from Peter’s nose, brushes through Peter’s hair with a tenderness Peter hasn’t received from anyone but May. It makes his eyes flutter closed, blocking out the too bright fire and all the activity around him.

He feels horrible.

So he submits.

He lets his head tip back and his neck be exposed because all of this is so dizzying and awful it hurts. He can barely hear Wade’s breath catch, but he can feel the Alpha’s gentle hands smoothing back his damp hair.

“Damn, all right,” Wade sighs and Peter’s being lifted up, eyes still closed, and slowly, so slowly it would be comical if Peter were better, his nose is being pressed into a warm neck and soft furs.

And Peter–

Purrs.

It’s a quiet sound, he doubts the rest of the group can hear them over Francis and Weasel arguing and Vanessa telling Schmidt to melt snow for water but Wade hears it, Peter knows he does, the Alpha’s arms tightening and an answering sound, a low rumble, vibrates in the larger man’s chest.

Peter just wants the world to stop spinning behind closed eyes so he can tell Wade that he’s sick. If he opens his mouth he’s going to throw up, so he does what Wade’s urging him to do and inhales Wade’s scent.

The affect is instantaneous. The shivering in his limbs calms, his heart steadies, and while he still feels drugged out of his mind he can focus on Wade’s heartbeat easily.

“That’s it,” Wade whispers, his fingers still running through Peter’s hair, “breathe, baby, it’ll help. Does my talking make it worse or better? Just nod if it helps.”

Helpless, Peter nods and presses closer.

He can hear Wade’s heart skip.

“Okay,” Wade says, mostly to himself, “okay. I ever tell ya about my momma? You remind me of her. She was crazy too. Bold and brash and loud, she always spoke her mind. Bravest person I knew. Always wanted to go South, she hated the North. Never liked the cold, complained about it almost as much as you.”

“Don’t…don’t compl–ain,” Peter stutters petulantly and Wade presses his smile into Peter’s hair and breathes, to calm himself as well as Peter.

“’Course not, what was I thinking,” Wade laughs, and it’s nice, to focus on Wade’s words and not how the world is tipping, how Peter’s limbs feel light and dreary.

He’s hot, crawling out of his skin, but Wade’s helping.

Wade’s always helping.

Peter’s in and out of sleep before he’s aware of it, face pressed into the crook of Wade’s neck and shoulder, and he’s feeling better, the pounding in his head not as intense a pressure when he feels Wade stiffen, arms tightening to the point of a warning.

Peter shifts, instinctively trying to move away but Wade doesn’t let him.

“Wade–” Peter begins but Wade shushes him gently, moves Peter back to his neck carefully.

“Hold up,” he whispers, his voice low and cautious, “there’s movement in the forest.”

Peter wants to open his eyes but he can’t, they’re too heavy. If he can focus he can hear footsteps traipsing through the trees, heavy and in sync, the sound of moving armor, of swords–

“Shit,” he hisses, pushing up out of Wade’s arms and looking wildly about, despite how his body protests the sudden movement.

Wade’s standing beside him in an instant, hand steadying on Peter’s arm, and Peter sees Vanessa and Weasel alert as well, eyes scanning the dark, the dying fire their only source of light.

“Where’s Schmidt? And Francis?” Peter asks, and Wade’s eyes are glowing in the dim.

His fangs catch the fire as he snarls.

“Ain’t that the big question,” he says, anger coating his words and making them thick as blotted ink, and Peter’s about to respond, wants to question more, but then there’s a break in the trees and all of Peter’s attention is captured.

Royal guards line the clearing, appearing from the dark on all sides, the emerald of their armor clear in the gloomy fall of night. Wade pushes Peter behind him, steps in front almost instantly but even if the guards can’t smell the Omega they still saw Peter.

Hopefully they don’t know his face. Peter had a drawing made of himself and sent to the Prince on his sixteenth birthday, but a lot has changed since then and his smell is muted, there’s a possibility that the guards are only searching–

Schmidt steps through the front line, a crude little smile on his features.

“There’s the Omega,” he says, gesturing behind Wade, “lets take him home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy friday!!!!! it's warm here!! i may get to leave work early?? enjoy friends, have a great weekend/easter/passover/days!


	5. i'm the powder, you're the fuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some more stuff goes down ya'll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: some big violence

Vanessa grew up in a poor fishing village off the shores of the Frozen Lakes.

Her parents were both Omegas, and when she presented at age fourteen they didn’t know how to handle her. She would often be secluded in her room, or sent to the docks to fish on the ice, her parents believing that if she were an Alpha she’d be immune to frostbite and hypothermia.

They were quickly proven wrong.

When the Goblin King lost his mind Vanessa lost her parents as they tried to flee South with her in the night, but the ice broke under their feet and sunk them down.

Vanessa found Wade months later, in a dreary pub in the corners of Kingdom Fell. They took up together after sharing a bed, and Vanessa had never been with another Alpha before. It was exciting, and fun, and new, and it kept them both on their toes with a false sense of commitment.

They were never exclusive, never talked about monogamy. Wade would disappear some nights with other Betas or Alphas who caught his eye, and Vanessa didn’t ever fight her desire to sink her teeth into a willing female Omega and see _stars_.

Being with Omegas…there wasn’t a good enough word for it. It was like she made sense to herself, that her body was for once not something that weighed her down but instead lifted her up.

She’s always been fearful that Wade would keep denying himself this, too embedded in his own want for control to let go, to trust someone else.

So Peter was a big fucking surprise.

Vanessa felt protective of him almost instantly, of his venom, of his resilience, of his laugh and his mind, he reminded her of a boy she grew up with in the Frozen Lakes, someone else who was taken away from her in her youth. The Omega’s scent was something she was curious to experience, but even without the oils it was a muted, almost timid thing.

But Wade could smell him.

Vanessa could tell the moment Wade’s nostrils first flared, his eyes shimmered, his hands twitching at his sides, and she wondered how long it would take for her friend to finally, _finally_ , give in.

 

/// 

                                                                

The Royal Guard arriving did not surprise Vanessa.

Nothing surprised her nowadays, when it came to politics and decrees and all that shit that was fueled by nothing but greed. It was appropriate that the Goblin King’s colors were emerald.

Alphas can’t see as well as Omegas in the dark, so the fear on Peter’s expression only raised Vanessa shakles further as she slowly made her way around the dying fire to stand on Peter’s other side, Wade still and unrelenting in front of them both.

She debates taking Peter and running, knowing that Wade would prefer to be a human shield and a distraction while they escaped, but Vanessa pushed that thought aside as soon as it rose. She can’t leave her best friend to be killed.

She can’t do that.

And Peter is still swaying on his feet, still shaky and sweaty and not right, so the young man definitely can’t help with the defense.

Shit.

Vanessa looks over to Weasel whose gathering up all their bags and stuffing gold into each one and–

“Peter,” Vanessa hisses, just as the guards all turn towards them, spears high and glinting in what little light is left, “go with Weasel.”

Wade doesn’t give any inclination that he’s heard, his breathing controlled, and Vanessa can’t see his expression but she’s sure it’s better if she doesn’t. Not with how some of the Beta guards are hesitating, not certain on their own abilities to approach.

Schmidt looks like he’s won already, so Vanessa picks up a stone by her foot and hurls it at the short doctor. It cracks against his head and he goes down, just as the guards begin to march forward, and Vanessa doesn’t hesitate, she grabs Peter to move him out of the way.

“Don’t touch him,” Wade’s voice is unrecognizable.

All she can see is the red of his eyes and the jut of his fangs.

“Wade,” she hisses, panic rising in her throat because the guards are moving towards them and Wade hardly seems to notice, all his attention on Peter now that someone tried to move him, “you can’t fight _and_ worry about him. I’m just taking him to–”

A growl cuts her off, makes the Royals hesitate, because it’s a low growl, its as horrible as grinding rocks and broken bones, and Vanessa has only seen Wade rage once but _this_ –

This is the _worst_ time to start an act of aggression towards the Goblin King. Taking something that belongs to him is in itself one, but if Wade singlehandedly starts a war by mauling the King’s Guard–

“Wade,” Vanessa urges, letting go of Peter in case that touch was spurring Wade’s possessive behavior and cringing when Peter immediately sways because the support is gone, “we can’t kill all–”

“I’ll go,” Peter slurs, and he moves forward to stand beside Wade, his small hand looking so frail against where he raises it to grip comfortingly around Wade’s wrist, “if you…y…let them go unharmed.”

One of the guards steps forward, an Alpha with a red emblem of his rank on his chest. He laughs beneath the metal.

“Little Omega you’re in no position to be making deals or calling orders,” he says but Vanessa can’t take her eyes off Wade, off his stance, off his _eyes…_  he’s unrecognizable to her, “we know you were kidnapped. That’s enough saving grace. Let’s move. Now.”

The Alpha guard’s attention shifts to Wade, who is obviously the biggest threat. The Alpha sniffs. Vanessa tenses, immediately, because she knows what this Alpha is doing: scenting to make sure he can’t smell a claimed Omega.

It makes Vanessa sick, that all of Peter’s worth is based on him not being mated, and even if he had been the oil Schmidt applied is enough to drown out any scent.

“Stand down Alpha,” the guard commands, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword, “the Omega is not yours to claim.”

“He’s no one’s to claim,” Wade says, a growl still under his words but he sounds lighter now, a little elated almost, and Vanessa finds that almost as dangerous as the rough timber of before because Wade is only joyful in a fight if he’s going to win.

And, Vanessa realizes with a heavy heart, that they _can’t_ win.

Not unless they want to start a war, but the Goblin King will have them killed anyway for taking his Omega, so what do they have to lose? With a resigned sigh Vanessa draws her own weapon and steps so that she’s also shielding Peter. Wade doesn’t spare her a second glance.

The guard before them scoffs.

“He’s the King’s,” he says, matter-of-fact, like Wade is slow, “he’s not yours. He’s meant for breeding, now stand down, Alpha.”

It was the worst thing the Alpha guard could say. Wade rolls his shoulders, an almost maniacal twist in his features, moving to go on the offensive but Peter stops him.

“Wade,” Peter’s voice barely carries, his eyes glassy and unfocused, and Vanessa isn’t sure how much longer the Omega will be able to hold himself upright, “don’t die for me. This is what I was born–”

“Pete if you finish that sentence,” Wade warns, eyes flashing as he turns to look down at where Peter has unconsciously moved closer against his side, “I ain’t gonna braid your hair anymore.”

That wasn’t the threat Vanessa had been expecting, Peter especially, because the younger man blinks in surprise before a strained smile graces his features.

“You’re crazy,” Peter tells him, “you know that?”

“So are you for stickin’ with me,” Wade answers, looking like he wants to lean down and scent Peter’s neck, make sure he’s safe, but Vanessa understands the frustration that passes Wade’s features when all he gets is the muted, putrid oils.

“Let him go to Weasel,” Vanessa starts before Wade laughs and draws his sword, stepping towards the line of Royal guards.

“Weas is long gone, Ness,” Wade tells her and Vanessa looks back to see an empty campground and most of their packs gone, “there’s only one way out of this and it’s _through_ all these jacked-up bastards. Pete–”

“If you fight you _will_ be killed,” the guard says, ignoring the unconscious doctor at his feet, “if you push us we will _have_ to hurt the Omega. Is that what you want?”

Wade’s entire body is a hard line of vibrating tension, his grip on his sword so tight it looks nearly painful. He’s holding on by a fraying thread.

“You’ll hurt him no matter what,” Wade growls stepping forward and not stopping, his gait confident and uncaring of the spears being aimed his way, “that’s why I gotta _skin_ you. Don't worry, it's personal.”

Peter’s not looking good, his eyes barely able to stay open, and Vanessa is torn between helping the Omega stand and going to assist Wade. One of the Beta guards throws the first spear and it stabs Wade through the chest, blood decorating the ground and causing Wade’s steps to falter.

“Wade!” Peter exclaims, eyes wide, face unbelievably pale, and Vanessa grits her teeth and holds Peter from rushing forward.

“He’s _fine_ ,” Vanessa hisses, hating having to watch Wade walking forward, the guards throwing their spears, one after another, and hesitating when Wade doesn’t die with each puncture.

Some of the guards run into the woods, either on whisper-spoken orders or their own cowardice. The Alpha guard watches, eyes piercing behind his helmet, almost excited that Wade hasn’t fallen. It puts Vanessa on edge, has all her instincts _screaming_ at her to get Wade back and for them to try and run instead.

Each time a spear hits more blood splatters, a sick imitation of a child-like game, and Vanessa reaches a point where she can’t watch anymore, instead tucking Peter against her neck and pushing his nose to where her scent is the strongest. This much stress on the Omega might send him into shock, especially with his imprinted Alpha being made into a pincushion before his eyes, the drugs no doubt making it look even more horrifying than reality, which is already terribly gruesome.

“Shh, it’s okay, Peter, breathe,” Vanessa shushes, over and over, because Peter’s begun making these hurt sounds, like he can’t get enough air into his lungs, like he’s spiraling into a panic attack, and the last thing any of them needs is Peter’s scent becoming stained with fear.

It would push Wade over entirely.

Wade, who still hasn’t fallen. Wade, who is now before the Alpha guard, seven spears sticking out of his body and creating a macabre sight in the dark.

To the Alpha guard’s credit, he doesn’t look scared. The Beta guards have all shrunk back, alarmed, muttering about how Wade is cursed, about how he’s the devil, how he’s not human–

“You wanna talk about hurting him again?” Wade asks voice thick with blood and coagulated rage, his sword still gripped securely at his side.

The Alpha guard tips up his head, looks Wade definitively in the eyes:

“I was promised a turn.”

Vanessa doesn’t look, but she hears the breaking of bones, the sick crunch of it, the wet tear of sinew and muscle and the clatter of armor crushed and thrown aside. She doesn’t look up as Wade kills every last guard still standing. Before she can check to make sure everything is safe Peter’s pushing away from her, still weak but the action is sudden enough that Vanessa lets him go with numb fingers.

He doesn’t hesitate; he walks right up to Wade, spears and all, and pulls him into a hug so tight Vanessa worries about the pressure on Wade’s wounds. It’s dark, but she can see how badly Wade is shaking, how pale he looks in the gloom. He’s stained in blood and bodily fluids, and he raises his arms, like he wants to touch Peter but isn’t allowing himself the reassurance.

“I’m kinda messy,” Wade croaks, his voice so low with self disgust that Vanessa can barely hear him.

“I don’t care,” Peter returns, then steps back to rub furiously at his neck.

Vanessa gets the hint.

Wade does too, for the way he stills, his breathing more labored now than it had been while he was being _impaled_.

“Pete–”

“This will help,” Peter whispers, and pulls Wade down so he can scent the side of his neck, the one with the lesser oil, and now Vanessa can smell the Omega too, the sweet winter aroma of him.

It’s calming, strangely, even for her. She knows he smells different to Wade, smells like something that makes the Alpha relax like that, but to her Peter smells like her mother’s tea and warm bread with honey.

Wade’s shaking stops.

The tension and anger in him drains away like it was sucked out. He breathes in deep and _melts_.

Vanessa turns away, to dig through the armor, to pick through the dead guards, for anything worth selling, and all the while she can’t help but notice that Wade smells the most calm he’s ever had.

 

///

 

Spears hurt like hell.

Pulling them out hurts worse but Wade’s not about to let his skin try to regenerate over the wooden polls. (He thinks he has some splinters inside his kidney).

He doesn’t let Peter see this. Which doesn’t mean Peter _listens_ because the kid is so _fucking stubborn_ that Wade wants to keep him locked up in a room with blankets and tea where nothing can _ever_ hurt him–

Oh.

Wade grunts as he pulls out the last spear, almost relishing in the searing hot pain as the jagged tip tears muscle. And then Peter’s hands, calloused from light farm work and hunting, are wrapping a bandage around Wade’s damaged shoulder. The Omega doesn’t jolt from the sight of blood, doesn’t react at all, his brow furrowed in intense concentration as he goes about mending Wade’s injuries.

“You don’t gotta do this honey,” Wade says, for the third time that night, “it’ll heal. It doesn’t matter–”

“It matters to me,” Peter interrupts, words harsh and non-negotiable, “you…getting hurt matters, Wade. Even if you heal.”

Wade doesn’t have a response so he stays quiet, focusing instead on Peter’s scent.

With the Omega this close and the oil fading in its intensity he can smell Peter more clearly, and the affect is instantaneous. He feels loopy almost, high in a way that still allows him focus but also an intense amount of content certainty. Is this why Vanessa and Francis always returned from their nights with Omegas looking blissed out of their minds? It would make sense, Wade feels nearly drunk.

“You keep smelling me,” Peter whispers as he ties off the bandage, hands lingering on the rough fabric, not pulling away from Wade entirely and Wade understands, wants to be as close to Peter as he can.

“Sorry,” Wade says, not sorry at all, and the teasing look Peter shoots his way has his heart skipping.

“No you’re not,” the Omega sighs, not upset, not irritated, just matter of fact, “how many times have you saved me now?”

“Two but whose counting?” Wade asks, rolling his shoulders and ignoring the horrible itch that comes with regenerative skin.

“Three,” Peter corrects and at Wade’s confused expression he elaborates, “I count you robbing the caravan as the first time.”

Wade scoffs, lifting up a hand to brush Peter’s hair off his forehead, the urge to clean Peter, to get him comfortable and safe, is nearly overwhelming. Just being surrounding by gaping trees and rolling darkness is enough to have Wade’s Alpha pacing, restless to get Peter somewhere with more suitable coverage.

“Almost killed you,” Wade points out but Peter’s scent never sours.

“No you didn’t,” Peter argues, eyes almost gold in the dark, and Wade wonders what this reflection is, for Peter’s eyes to look so otherworldly in the night, “you were never going to hurt me.”

“You sound pretty confident baby boy,” Wade responds, but his voice wavers and he sounds weak, “I ain’t no saint.”

“Nah,” Peter huffs, a gentle smiling tugging at the corners of his lips, and Wade wishes it was lighter so he could see it clearly, “I feel better.”

“Good,” Wade whispers, bringing his hand down over Peter’s neck, just barely, not wanting to push anything or tempt Peter’s comfort level, but hoping that his touch will help the Omega relax further, “you should eat something. Drink water.”

“Do you always become a mother hen after you slaughter a Royal Guard?” Peter asks and doesn’t move away, if anything he _leans_ into Wade’s touch, almost like he’s relishing in being allowed it.

It makes Wade a little breathless.

“Just for cute feisty Omegas like you,” Wade admits, letting his fangs flash in a playful manner, “can you believe I’ve made it almost forty pages without talking about your ass?”

“Oh so you _did_ get a head injury,” Peter deadpans, but stands on his tiptoes and makes Wade tilt his head down so he can see, “huh. No wound.”

“I’m right as rain, Pete,” Wade assures, amused at the Omega's sudden fixation with grooming and mending Wade, “more concerned about you.”

“I’m fine,” Peter says and seems to remember himself, clearing his throat as he takes a careful step back.

Wade almost whines at Peter moving, and has to bite his cheek to not make a sound. He really needs to rein in this protective desire; it’s getting out of hand.

It’s becoming a distraction.

In retaliation, his wounds throb, but he’d take a hundred spears if it meant keeping Peter safe. It hits Wade, as sharp and as deadly as the weapons, that Peter could’ve been taken from him. He could’ve been on his way to the Goblin King now, with that horrid Alpha guard–

Wade wants to rip the guy's head off all over again.

“Hey,” Peter whispers, the quiet of the cold making his words soft and delicate, “what’s wrong? Your scent went sour.”

Wade laughs, strained and a little incredulous, and distracts himself by picking at one of the bandages.

“Great, so now that we’ve scented you’re gonna know my every feeling, huh?” Wade asks.

“I could smell you before,” Peter admits and Wade looks up, brows furrowing in alarmed confusion.

“What?”

“I,” Peter looks guilty, and he doesn’t meet Wade’s gaze in the gloom, “I could scent you like this before. Uh, before you let me. This isn’t new.”

Wade’s mouth is dry. His heart is tap dancing against his ribs.

“You… _Pete_ ,” Wade begins, the enormity of what this means crashing on him, “you know that we’re–”

“We gotta move,” Vanessa interrupts, her words boomeranging around the thick dead trunks of the trees, “they’ll notice that their men aren’t back. We need to make it to Frostbite. I’m sure Weasel’s there as well.”

Wade’s torn between telling her to fuck off and being grateful for the interruption because he had no idea where he was going with that.

“Yeah,” he agrees, turning to Peter, “you okay to walk?”

The Omega crosses his arms, ever defiant besides for the obvious fatigue drooping his shoulders.

“I could run if I wanted,” Peter grumbles, pushing past Wade to follow Vanessa through the forest, and Wade can’t keep the dumb smile off his face if he tried.

“We’re not far,” Vanessa says, addressing the two of them gently, “no more than a few hours–“

“Wait!” Peter hisses, stopping so suddenly that Wade almost runs into him, “Wait I’m mad at you!”

Wade blinks, and looks to Vanessa for clarification she doesn’t give, before staring down at where Peter has a finger pointed at his chest like its personally wronged him.

“Uh,” Wade says, “sorry?”

“The fuck are we going to do now?” Peter hisses, his fangs sharp in the dusky light of a rising sun, “if I don’t go to the King my Aunt will die. My _people_ will die. The Royal Guard was a sure-fire way to make sure that I uphold my half of the deal–”

“I thought we agreed you weren’t being used like a dog,” Wade growls, fists clenching at his sides.

“ _No_ , you stormed off without us agreeing on anything!” Peter snaps, his own anger rising to match Wade’s effortlessly. “What’s the plan? What’s next? Because I’m not going to let my fear be the reason hundreds of people die.”

“Yeah? Those hundreds of people are more than happy to dump all their shit on you! They’re using you in a heartbeat, they don’t give a fuck–”

“You don’t know them! You don’t know my Aunt, you don’t know the circumstances–”

“Then explain it to me, Pete, because all I’m hearin’ is that you’re about to go to the Goblin King giftwrapped to be raped–”

Peter snarls, a low warning thing.

“What else am I supposed to do? What else _can_ I do? Why do _you_ care so much, you were content to leave me to rot in the woods before, what changed to make you–”

“Because you drive me crazy!” Wade yells, and Peter’s mouth snaps shut at the growl laced in the words, “You… _fuck_ , Pete, no one deserves to be used up and thrown out. We’ll find a way.”

Peter looks defeated, resigned in a way that Wade hates to see. It’s like the young man’s given up already.

“You don’t have a plan,” Peter whispers, “and I was supposed to be at the Kingdom a day ago.”

“Listen to me,” Wade hisses, ignorant of Vanessa he reaches forward and takes Peter’s hands, Peter’s strong, capable hands, and holds them close, more for his own benefit than the Omegas but Wade can see how Peter relaxes under Wade’s touch, “just…give me tonight. Let’s get to Frostbite, let’s get a room, let’s figure this shit out. Okay? You going to them is a last resort, all right?”

“Wade,” Peter says, “the only other way is treason. The worst outcome is war.”

Wade knows this. He’s thought about this. And damn, change needs to start somewhere so why not here? He’ll get Peter to his Aunt, get them both somewhere say, sneak into the Kingdom, kills the King–

“Wait,” Wade grins, and Peter stirs, eyes flashing gold in the night as Wade’s scent changes from irritation to excited, “I have a plan.”

“Oh Gods,” Vanessa groans, running a hand over her face, “then formulate it and tell us–”

“I’m just gonna spitball it,” Wade interrupts, encouraged by the light coming on in Peter’s eyes, on the way the dull morning sun lights Peter’s cheeks with pink and orange, “we take you to the King.”

“Uh,” Peter begins, “Wade that’s what we’ve been arguing about for a _day_ –”

“Listen,” Wade urges, bringing up Peter’s knuckles and kissing them, impulsively, but it does make Peter’s mouth snap shut and his scent soften, “Ness and I will act like we found you in the woods outside Frostbite. We take you to the King, and I kill him. It’s a way in!”

Peter looks at him, calculating.

“Everyone who knows our faces is dead,” Wade continues, gesturing back to where they left Schmidt bleeding in the ground, “and if Weas blabs, well, he’s annoying, I can take him.”

“Francis,” Vanessa interjects, and Peter and Wade turn to her, “he’s out, somewhere. He knows you Wade, and we don’t know his intentions. There’s too much of a risk, to approach the Kingdoms gates with the hope that they won’t arrest you on the spot.”

Wade’s silent for a minute, emotions churning in quick succession over his features.

“ ** _Fuck_**!” he hisses, “fucking _fuck_ , that’s all I got. Shit!”

Peter sighs, reaches out with a tired look to take Wade’s hand.

“You’ll have all night to think this over,” Peter tells him, “but I’m exhausted. I feel horrible. Can we get a bed? Somewhere comfortable?”

And something in Wade relents immediately. All he can focus on, all he cares about now, is getting Peter a bed, and sheets, and warm soup. He wants to _provide_ , so badly he feels manic with it.

How could Vanessa and Francis leave their Omegas after only a night? Wade’s just scented Peter and he’s ready to follow him to the ends of the goddamn Earth.

“Of course,” Wade says, pressing his hand to Peter’s forehead, worry stirring in his gut when he feels warm, “lets go.”

 

///

 

Peter feels disgusting.

He isn’t sure how long the effect of Red Root lasts, or how intense it’s supposed to be, but he feels feverish, his skin too sensitive, every touch is burned into him. His vision is clouded, blurring in and out, and he can’t get past these horrible searing cramps in his gut.

He has to stop to reorient himself an hour later when the world begins to tilt, pressing his forehead against the snow and relishing at the quick relief that brings.

“The fuck is going on?” Wade hisses to Vanessa, “Is it still the root?”

Vanessa doesn’t answer.

It’s the silence that scares Peter the most.

 

///

 

Frostbite is a small town surrounded by large stone walls.

Vanessa stops them outside, still shielding by the trees in the forest. Peter can barely focus on her, wanting to curl up and press his face into Wade’s neck and sleep, but now isn’t the time and he hates that he’s found so much comfort in an Alpha he’s known for less than a week.

It’s because they’ve imprinted, Peter thinks, it’s because their scents are compatible. Or something, Peter doesn’t really understand it, doesn’t get Alpha/Omega dynamics because he’s never experienced them. He isn’t sure if this is normal behavior or not, to want to seek reassurance in Wade. He doesn’t know how to unpack all of these sudden life changes.

He wishes, distantly, that May were here.

“We’re gonna need something to cover Peter’s scent,” Vanessa whispers, “he’s a male Omega. That’s a major red flag.”

Peter’s too out of it to really focus on what’s being said, and he blames his delirious state for what he blurts out next.

“Wade can cover me,” he slurs and both Alpha’s freeze, Peter continuing despite the sudden tension, “if I smell like him no other Alphas will approach me. Right?”

When Wade and Vanessa doesn’t answer, only stare, Peter begins to realize that he maybe said something wrong.

His cheeks flush as clarity rushes back.

“Uh, wait,” Peter splutters, “uh, I mean, only if that–”

“Why Wade?” Vanessa interrupts, an amused smile on her face, “why not me?”

Wade’s eyes flash red.

“Hah, you’re hilarious,” Wade growls, ignoring Vanessa’s laughter as he steps up to dab the sweat from Peter’s forehead, “you’re serious? Hey, Petey, you wanna smell like me? Really? ‘Cause I’ve been told I smell like the dead–”

“You smell like cinnamon, Wade, we’ve been over this,” Peter grumbles, still embarrassed and utterly exhausted, “now please rub up on me.”

Vanessa’s staring at Wade with an excited, smug look that only deepens the pink of Wade’s cheeks and making him blush so hard he looks sunburnt.

“Can…ah, can you word that differently? Like in a less sexual way? ‘Cause Pete we’ve established that you smell amazing and my self-control is unbelievably fragile–” Wade rambles, stuttering over his own words, tripping across them in a flustered haste and Vanessa simple turns away to give them an illusion of privacy as Peter reaches for Wade’s furs and pulls him close.

“Wade, I feel like I’m going to pass out,” Peter hisses, the world tilting in the most sickening of ways, “I’m nauseous and paranoid and stressed and I just need you to do this for me. If you want. If you don’t want I can ask–”

“No, shh, no,” Wade hums, wrapping his arms around Peter’s shoulders and exposing his neck for Peter to scent, the younger man’s nose gentle and ticklish against the scars on his skin, “you’re delirious, saying crazy things.”

Peter huffs a laugh and presses closer, Wade drapes the furs around his shoulder and Peter inhales. Not the timid, respectful ones he’s been taking but a deep, lung-filling one. A breath that washes over his senses, that has his heart stuttering, that has him pressing his chest against Wade’s shamelessly and exposing his own neck in return.

“Pete,” Wade begins but Peter just whines, the vibrations over Wade’s scent glands makes the Alpha shiver, his hands smoothing down the cloak along Peter’s back, “okay, honey, okay.”

And then Wade’s tucking his face against Peter’s neck, an overwhelming sense of calm, and care, and protect, washing off Wade’s scent and making Peter feel warm, feel safe, feel secure.

He’s not as focused on the lightheadedness, or the aching of his limbs. Instead he feels like he’s wrapped up in a warm blanket of cinnamon and winter mornings and Wade, and it’s such a heady, welcomed mixture of sensations that Peter doesn’t try to stifle the purr he feels rumbling in his chest.

“Smell good,” Peter sighs, his hands resting on the expanse of Wade’s broad hips, “smell good, Wade.”

Wade swallows, Peter can feel it, but his scent is still pleased, still _interested_ , despite the larger man’s obvious nerves. His grip on Peter tightens, not hurting, but unmistakably there.

“You too,” Wade whispers, his lips moving along Peter’s skin, making Peter press closer on instinct, tipping his chin in a more submissive gesture than before.

A low growl builds in Wade’s chest, nothing that makes Peter fearful or anxious. No, this is an approving sound, one that makes Peter want to _preen_.

“Better?” Wade asks, after an undetermined amount of time.

Peter smiles, nods happily against Wade’s skin and doesn’t make any move to pull away. He doesn’t feel as sick, or on edge. He could fall asleep easily here, pressed up against Wade with the Alpha’s arms wrapped securely around him.

Peter doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to leave, and that thought scares Peter just as much as it excites and confuses him. Reluctantly he pulls back, fighting against every nerve in his body wanting him to stay.

When Peter looks up at Wade the Alpha’s red eyes are soft, are gentle in the growing light, and he licks his lips, tongue flicking over his fangs and Peter’s helpless but to copy the action.

It makes Wade grin.

“Yeah, you look better baby boy,” Wade hums, "smell like me a bit."

And there it is, that intrinsic desire to please Wade, to make Wade proud of him, to make Wade happy, to make his Alpha–

Whoa.

No. No, not _his_ Alpha. His friend, maybe, if your kidnapper turned rescuer turned helper can be categorized as a friend. Peter isn’t sure what the disappointment swelling in his chest means. He just knows it’s dangerous.

“Thank you,” Peter whispers, earnest, and clasps Wade’s hand in his so he can feel the scars against his skin.

It’s selfish, maybe, but Peter’s touch starved and sick, he needs this. And Wade’s giving it.

Peter wonders, as they make their way down the snowy hills to Frostbite, what more Wade would give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg you guys are still reading this??? amazing, thank youuu
> 
> planning to start updating this story every Tuesday (knowing me it'll probs be more frequent) but I gotta start organizing my updates with stories so i can finish all these WIPS lol 
> 
>  
> 
> **ya'll are amazing, fr, this is the most supportive fandom i've ever been a part of


	6. just add some friction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oof light it up babes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no violence in this chapter??? amaze

It’s snowing more now than it has in the past _week_ , the wind is chilled and harsh, ice scraped nails down the side of Wade’s face and irritating his scars.

He hasn’t had time to buy more ointment for his skin, and he knows he looks disgusting with how his skin has paled and peeled. He puts the hood of his cloak up in a flare of rare self-consciousness. Usually he wouldn’t give a shit if someone stared at him, because he’d just pummel them into the dirt. But now he wants to look nice, and attractive, and presentable because Peter is perfect and he’s–  _fuck_ , a shamed Alpha whose been cursed?

Wade tries not to dwell on that one.

He has other things to pay attention to, like the two Beta guards stationed outside the large wooden gates, stoic and steady even in the whirlwind of the cold. Wade stops, gesturing for Ness and Peter to do the same, and they huddle together on the covered path to Frostbite.

“Pete,” Wade whispers, trying to keep himself calm, trying to keep himself intentioned, because Peter is horribly pale despite the cold red of his nose and cheeks and Wade _really_ needs to not follow his more instinctive urges to pick Peter up and break down the damn village’s walls– “you need to stay by me. No wandering. Or looking like you’re gonna pass out.”

At least the Omega has enough energy to roll his eyes.

“I’m not doing this for fun, asshole,” Peter snipes, shoulders hunched up to his fucking ears, “I _am_ going to pass out.”

“Can you make it to an Inn first?” Wade asks, “And act extra sick. Look like you’re going to die so no one asks a lot of questions and we can get to a room without them smelling nice, sweet male Omega with a killer ass.”

“Do you _want_ me to punch you?” Peter asks, but he’s lacking his usual sarcasm, uneasy on his feet, “I’m not playing a damsel in distress.”

“That’s how we’ll get in with very little questioning,” Vanessa whispers, keeping her voice soothing, “it’s backwards, but it’ll just be for a few minutes.”

Peter looks like he wants to argue but is too exhausted to even try. He just nods; holding the cloak tighter around himself and without any hesitation Wade takes off his frosted furs and wraps them about Peter instead.

“Wade, wait, you’ll freeze–”

“Yeah, but I’ll come back. _You_ won’t,” Wade interrupts, moving forward and holding Peter close to his side, the Omega relaxing almost instantly under the familiar touch and added warmth, “lets go.”

 

///

 

The guards let them in with very little questioning as soon as they see Peter, and Wade hopes his scent will cover the Omega enough that no one begins to take note that Peter is, in fact, a male Omega.

It’s the very _last_ thing they need, because while Omegas are rare _male_ Omegas are even more sought after, that whole “only gives birth to sons” mythology, and if the King has extended any kind of search then they can’t take any chances here. So Wade makes sure to keep Peter close, to mask any of the Omega’s scent with his own, hoping that the convoluted smells will make him come across more as a Beta, and Wade hangs back to stand with Peter outside of an Inn while Vanessa goes inside to purchase them a room.

The snow has picked up, and the ground is coated in slush as people tread in heavy boots, the carriages and wooden carts grinding up mud and making the whole village appear cold and dirty.

Wade would kill someone for a bath, for some warm soup and alcohol. He’d also kill someone to make sure Peter has a nice place to sleep, so if one thing is wrong with this Inn Wade is about one breath away from _losing it_.

“Why are you irritated?” Peter asks, his words muffled from where he’s pressed himself against Wade’s side, his face deep in the furs Wade had given him, and Wade feels oddly please and protective at the way Peter scents them, almost subconsciously.

“I’m always irritated,” Wade answers, but tries to soften his scent, not used to someone being so in tune with him.

He’s never had to be this aware of himself before.

“Well stop,” Peter sighs, pressing closer, his actions contradicting his reproaching tone, “think about daisies or something my head hurts.”  
Wade’s grip on Peter tightens, and he bites back the desire to scent Peter, to quell the sickness the Omega is feeling.

“My smell affects you that much?” Wade tries to tease, tries to lighten whatever dumb feelings are building in his chest, “Should I go to the salt baths?”

“You don’t smell bad,” Peter corrects, and it makes that self-conscious doubt in Wade lessen, “just…think of happy things. It’ll help my head.”

Wade laughs, keeping his eyes on all the people passing. Luckily no one spares them a second glance.

“My life ain’t exactly rainbows and unicorns, Petey, I don’t got a lot of happy memories to draw from,” Wade admits, voice low and vulnerable and Peter shifts against him, his hands bunching in Wade’s cloak.

The kid is being very tactile, very cuddly, and while Wade’s Alpha is _living_ for this Wade himself can’t shake the concern that comes with Peter acting this vulnerable. If he’s acting he’s fooling even Wade.

“Think about…daydream,” Peter sighs, “about where you’d like to be.”

“Where I’d like to be?” Wade repeats, looking down at Peter, whose eyes are closed, skin flushed with the cold, eyelashes collecting snow like frozen tears, and it hits Wade like a spear through a kidney how beautiful this man is, how lovely he looks.

Wade, swallows, nervous, but reluctantly accepting.

Fuck.

It’s incredibly damning, that Wade doesn’t want to be anywhere but here.

 

///

 

Peter’s knees feel like they’re going to give out with every step.

They’re shaky in a way they haven’t been before, aching and sore around his kneecaps and thighs. His holding onto Wade isn’t just for appearances; he needs the support to stay upright. He hasn’t felt this horrible in a long, long time, and he doesn’t remember walking up the many steps to the Inn’s third floor, the wooden boards and steps creaking with every additional weight applied, and when Vanessa finally, finally unlocks the door to one of the rooms at the end of the hall Peter almost collapses in his haste to lay down.

The dizziness as stopped, and Peter’s beyond thankful that the nausea followed it, but he’s still sensitive, everything too loud and too bright, and he curls up miserably on the thin mattress at the far side of the room.

“Ness, there’s _one_ bed,” Wade says, “who the hell is gonna watch him?”

“Wade, Weasel took most our money,” Vanessa explains, carefully, “either you two share a bed or we’ll share one and Peter can have a room to himself. You two pick. But it’s warm and out of the cold and that’s all that matters now, right?”

Wade’s silence makes Peter anxious, and he almost does something embarrassing, like reach out for the Alpha. Another sharp pain in his stomach makes him flinch, it’s almost searing in its intensity, and Peter bites his lip and curls inward, both for the heat and the comfort of the position.

“You’re gonna pick someone up, aren’t you?” Wade sighs.

Vanessa laughs.

“Wade! We might die tomorrow, let me have some fun,” Vanessa argues, then drops her voice, no doubt wanting to be inconspicuous but Peter’s senses have always been heightened, the only fucking good perk on being an Omega, and obviously Vanessa and Wade aren’t aware of that particular trait.

“Your scents are compatible,” Vanessa whispers, “well, you two are in general but if there’s one thing that’s going to mute his scent it’s you. I suggest you share the bed. I’ll bring up food, and alcohol, and whatever else you two need. He doesn’t look good. He needs you.”

“Needs me?” Wade repeats, voice low, “Ness, what…I don’t know what the _fuck_ I’m doing here. I’ve never–”

“He’s _sick_ , Wade. You’ve taken care of me, and your mother, you can do this. Just be careful,” Vanessa says, and then raises her voice, ignoring Wade’s fumbling insecurities, “Peter, what do you need? Are you going to throw up?”

Peter shakes his head but doesn’t try to answer. He wants to sink into this thin mattress and pass out for three days.

“Get him some water,” Wade says, digging into his pockets to pass Vanessa some coins, “and soup with bread. Is there a washroom?”

“There’s a communal one outside,” Vanessa responds, taking the money, “hot springs.”

“How much privacy do you think we’d get?” Wade asks, sounding like he already knows the answer.

“Go in the morning, before we leave,” she says, walking to the door and opening it, “I’ll be back soon.”

There’s her retreating footsteps and then silence. Peter squints, grateful for when Wade crosses the small room and closes the shutters of the window. The draft is still terrible, and Peter can’t help the full body shivers that rake over him. His teeth are chattering so horribly he’s worried he’ll crack a tooth.

“Lets get you comfy,” Wade says, walking over and bending down, hesitating with his hands over Peter’s boots, “can I take this off?”

Peter wants to say no. He wants to tell Wade not to touch him because even these sheets are itchy and uncomfortable on what little skin he has showing. He’s never been this sensitive, to the point of pain.

“Am I dying?” Peter rasps, almost laughing at Wade’s wide-eyed, panicked look. “Kidding. I’m just sick.”

“We’ll get you better,” Wade says immediately, hands still hovering over Peter’s laces, “but can I take these off? You can’t be comfortable with these things on.”

“I’m not,” Peter replies and nods, closing his eyes and focusing on anything but how awful he’s feeling as Wade dutifully unties his boots, slides them off each leg carefully.

“Bet this is a rare sight,” Peter mutters, exhausted weighing heavy and making his words stumble.

He can feel Wade’s eyes on him, assessing.

“What is?” Wade asks; gently lifting Peter’s legs and apologizing when Peter tries to flinch away, “sorry, I’m getting this blanket from under you, that’s all. There we go, okay?”

“An Alpha taking care of an Omega,” Peter responds, a little late but Wade puts two and two together, his touch on Peter stilling and Peter opens his eyes, Wade a dim silhouette kneeling by their bed.

“That’s rare?” Wade asks, brows furrowing.

“I think so,” Peter answers, not able to look away, wanting more than anything for Wade to come closer, even with his hurting skin, “I haven’t seen or heard of it before.”

Wade’s jaw tenses, the way it does when the Alpha’s upset about something. Peter can’t help it; he reaches out and grips the felt material of Wade’s heavy cloak.

“Is it not rare in the North?” Peter asks, watching Wade’s expression carefully.

“Don’t know,” Wade admits, pulling the quilt up to Peter’s chin, tucking it under his sides to trap the heat, “I’ve…the only Omegas and Alpha’s I’ve seen interact have been with Ness or Francis in dark bars.”

Peter swallows, too hot but knowing he’ll be freezing if the quilt’s removed, so instead he just tugs on Wade’s cloak and hopes the Alpha gets the hint. Wade does, thankfully, because he slowly stands and kicks off his dirty boots, unclasps his cloak so he can drape that over Peter as well before he carefully fits himself on the edge of the bed beside Peter.

They’re close, Peter realizes a little dazedly, only five inches between them, but he can’t move away any further, the wall pressing against his back. The frustrating thing is that Peter doesn’t want more distance, if anything he wants to get closer.

Wade’s eyes are a dark blue in this light, no longer their usual red, and Peter wonders how often his Alpha is rearing its head, how close it stays to Wade’s surface.

“You have blue eyes,” Peter observes, keeping his voice soft and low, not wanting to break the fragility of this moment, “I thought they were red.”

Wade laughs, a rough, indulging sound.

“Nah,” he whispers, brushing Peter’s greasy hair off his forehead, a gesture that’s now become routine and comforting, “blue eyes are the only things I got going for me. Yikes, sorry you’ve only seen the red. It’s–can’t help it.”

“Don’t apologize,” Peter says, throat dry, skin hot and uncomfortable, “I like both.”

“Right,” Wade whispers, a little strained, his scent a mixture of emotions and smells that Peter can’t decipher with his ill attention, “the red doesn’t scare you?”

“No,” Peter says, “is it supposed to?”

Wade’s smile is sad.

“Guess not,” he says, scarred hands gently framing the side of Peter’s face, a reverence to his touch that only makes Peter’s skin tingle, not burn unpleasantly like everywhere else.

This is intimate, and it’s something Peter’s never experienced before. He feels nervous, but there’s not reason to be nervous right? This is okay, this is casual, this doesn’t have to mean anything.

Peter’s just sick, and vulnerable, and Wade’s nice. Wade smells good, Wade’s considerate, Wade’s protective, Wade’s never treated him like he was anything lesser.

Peter can’t help it, and doesn’t think, just shifts close and presses his nose against Wade’s neck. He should’ve asked first, this is an insanely cherished act, and he almost pulls away, almost begins to apologize but he _can’t_.

Wade smells amazing.

His skin feels cool and refreshing on Peter’s cheeks.

“Sorry,” Peter whispers, his voice breaking at the vulnerability of his circumstances, “I…I don’t know…”

“It’s all right,” Wade says, stiff and tense and not at all at ease, “does it help?”

Peter swallows his guilt, his pride, his… _whatever_ he has left, and nods, ashamed.

“Yes,” he admits, “clears my head.”

Wade’s silent for a long time, obviously uncomfortable, and Peter _should_ pull away; he _should_ , because Wade hasn’t _relaxed_ –

“Can I hold you?” Wade whispers, sounding exposed and shy. “I…you smell like you're in pain and it’s…it’s driving me crazy, Pete, I need–”

“ _Yes_ ,” Peter pleads, pressing closer, relishing in the way his body curls around Wade’s, the blankets limiting the closeness and making Peter frustrated, “yes, can you–the covers–”

“You want me under them?” Wade asks, cautious but his scent is softening, growing into something more soothing and relieved.

Peter nods, not pulling his face away from Wade’s neck, and it makes the Alpha laugh, bemused.

“You gotta let me go so I can move, baby boy,” Wade reminds but Peter just whines, just presses closer.

“Don’t wanna move,” Peter says, “feel horrible.”

“This will help,” Wade assures, and Peter huffs against his skin, inhaling and relishing in the way cinnamon and cloves waft through him, make the aching in his bones lessen, “two seconds, Pete, then I’ll be back.”

“Gods, _fine_ ,” Peter hisses and hates how the quilt feels like needles when Wade shifts to get under it.

He curls back against Wade immediately, and Wade braces Peter’s head in the crook of his arm, his other one rubbing soothing motions up and down Peter’s back. It’s so light that it doesn’t irritate Peter’s skin, and Peter just tries to breathe and focus on Wade and Wade’s scent.

“I’m scared,” Peter admits, feeling bolder in the dark, “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, Wade.”

The Alpha presses his nose into Peter’s hair, inhales the Omega’s smell and consequently makes Peter relax further.

“We’ll figure it out,” Wade says, holding Peter more firmly when the Omega doesn’t try to pull away, “just try to sleep.”

“Keep talking,” Peter says, letting his eyes close, “tell me more about your mom.”

Wade’s grateful for the dark.

It hides the tears that gather in his eyes.

“Okay,” he agrees, and Peter nods to show he’s listening, “let me tell you about this elderberry bread she always made…”

 

///

 

 

The knock at the door has Wade on his feet instantly; a growl perched on the edge of his fangs.

For a moment, he’s forgotten where he is. The only thing he’s focused on is _protect_ _protect_ _protect_ , because Peter had been sleeping so _peacefully_ and _who the fuck_ –

“Wade? I brought you guys food and water,” Vanessa’s voice calls and Wade’s so paranoid he has to scent the air to be able to feel reassured about unbolting the door.

As soon as Peter had fallen asleep Wade couldn’t help the need to make sure Peter was in a safe, enclosed space. He had moved the only dresser in the room to block the door, and he doesn’t regret it as he pushes it aside to crack the door open.

He hears Peter shift in the sheets and barely holds back from just grabbing the food and closing Vanessa out.

Barely.

“Wow your eyes are glowing,” Vanessa comments drily, holding up a tray with two bowls of soup and a loaf of bread, “I’m not a threat, Alpha, stand down.”

“I’m trying,” Wade grumbles, opening the door wider and reluctantly letting Vanessa step inside.

“Try harder,” Vanessa tells him, smartly not moving closer to Peter, just passing the tray to Wade as she subtly scents the air, “he smells different.”

“Careful,” Wade warns, setting the tray on the small night table and quickly pouring Peter some water from the pitcher.

“Relax, I’m not interested in every Omega I meet,” Vanessa snarls, before softening her scent when Peter’s eyes blink blearily awake, “Peter, do you feel any better?”

“No,” he whispers, expression glazed, “hot.”

“He has a fever,” Wade says, “which is why the quilts will help–”

“The quilts are itchy,” Peter complains, wrinkling his nose, “and smell weird.”

Wade passes Peter the water, lifting the Omega’s head so the kid barely has to move.

“Ness can we get new sheets?” Wade asks.

Vanessa wants to strangle him.

“No, we can’t get a new quilt because this one smells weird,” she says, crossing her arms and watching Peter carefully, “you’re _really_ taking care of him.”

“Well yeah,” Wade snaps, offended, “he’s sick! And small! And–”

“And right here,” Peter interrupts before laying back down against the pillows and curling up, “Schmidt was right. I need–”

“That fucked up Beta did this to you,” Wade interjects, eyes flashing, “if he were here do you really think he’d help?”

Peter falls quiet, his eyes closing. Wade can’t help but stare, and fret, and feel entirely useless.

“Do we need a healer?” Wade asks, pushing more sweaty hair off Peter’s forehead, “He isn’t doing well.”

Vanessa’s silent for a moment, watching Wade carefully. Her eyes dart to Peter, assessing, before she takes Wade’s wrist and drags him into the hall. He nearly takes her head off on instinct, and she releases him immediately, closing the heavy wood door behind them.

“Wade, how much do you know about Omegas?” Vanessa asks, voice pitched low.

Wade shifts on his feet, anxious at not being able to see Peter, at not being able to _see_ how he’s doing.

“Oh, _so_ much, I hang out with all my many Omega friends every weekend– _nothing_ Ness, that’s why I’m useless here,” Wade hisses, “the old man wasn’t too keen on talkin’ about personal things.”

Vanessa nods, understanding.

“I think he’s going into an stress-induced heat,” Vanessa whispers, the urgency in her tone making Wade even more on edge, “I don’t know much about it. Peter probably understands more than we do.”

“The _hell_?” Wade hisses, looking around them and then back to the closed door, to where Peter is suffering on the shitty bed, “That’s possible?”

“ _Yes_ that’s possible,” Vanessa answers, obviously trying to be patient and stay calm, “what the hell do you think your rages are? Just anger? They’re stress prone ruts, Wade. That’s why you go berserk every fucking week, ‘cause you haven’t knotted–”

“All right, I get it,” Wade snaps, his fangs pricking his lips in his abrupt frustration, “no one explained this shit to me.”

“Yeah, I’ve learned by being _with_ Omegas,” Vanessa says, and her expression softens, melts into something more patient, “listen Wade. It’s not a full-blown heat. It’s not meant for mating, or to induce fertility. It’s his body becoming overwhelmed. I don’t know how long it lasts, but we just need to be calm and you need to control your emotions. You need to smell comforting all the fucking time right now, all right?”

“That’s a lot easier said than done,” Wade grumbles, crossing his arms and letting his nails dig into his wrists, “he kinda makes me feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Vanessa tilts her head, something lighting in her eyes that Wade doesn’t have a name for, but it makes him feel like he’s missing something here.

“Keep an eye on him tonight,” Vanessa says, finality in her words, “if his fever hasn’t broken after he bathes tomorrow we’ll take him to a healer. He might really be sick, he’s not used to the cold.”

“Wait,” Wade calls as Vanessa turns and begins to walk away, “where are you going?”

She grins and stretches her arms over her head.

“There’s a _bar_ Wade,” she says, eyes flashing red, “I’m gonna have some fun.”

“You’re gonna find an Omega, you mean,” Wade corrects, annoyed at Vanessa’s ability to just… _be_ with Omegas so easily.

“I’m doing recon too,” Vanessa hums, and points to the door behind Wade’s back. “Let me know if he needs anything else.”

“ _I_ need alcohol,” Wade tells her but she just waves over her shoulder and disappears down the creaking steps.

Wade’s left standing in the cold hallway, hands clenched, warring with himself. He doesn’t want to be away from Peter, but just the thought of him being anywhere near a heat feels Wade with an overwhelming sense of dread and apprehension.

It scares him, he realizes, because heats mean his dad leaving, mean his mother being hurt, means the whole village trying to take advantage–

Wade presses his face in his hands, tries to will his breathing down. He needs to go back in there with his emotions and his scent in check. Peter is hypersensitive to him, and vice versa, Wade doesn’t want to risk sending Peter deeper into this.

If stressed-induced heats are anything like Wade’s rages then Peter isn’t going to be aware of much. He’ll be focused on certain things, like touch and sound and taste, but it’ll be nearly too much.

Wade takes deep breaths, mellows his scent, and walks back into the room and quietly closes the door. It shuts with a click and he can see that Peter’s sitting up in the dim, the bowl of soup cradled in his hands.

Wade can’t meet his gaze, instead busies himself with lighting the lanterns placed by the bed, and he doesn’t know why he feels embarrassed but he does.

“I heard you two,” Peter says and Wade sighs, standing with a nervous slouch.

“Didn’t mean for you too,” Wade admits, sheepish, finally meeting Peter’s eyes, “we’re just worried ‘cause you look like you’re gonna keel over.”

Peter’s lips twitch in a weak smile.

“Charming,” Peter says, sipping from the bowl, “I…Vanessa’s right, I think. About the stress.”

Wade nods, completely out of his depth but wanting to listen.

“I uh, don’t know much about heats,” Wade begins and stops when Peter laughs.

“Wade, I don’t think you know _anything_ about heats,” Peter corrects gently, and Wade’s so disarmed by Peter’s smile that he forgets how to talk, “I’m not due for an actual heat for about a week. Maybe longer, mine have always been…spotty. I’m not brainless in heats, despite what people think. I know what’s going on. I just…crave touch. And getting off, um, it helps but it isn’t necessary. Everything’s just heightened. So if I’m angry I’m _really_ angry. If I’m horny…”

Wade can’t help the flush that fills his cheeks, because Peter’s lowered his gaze, his own face stained pink, and he looks so lovely that Wade feels a little perverted.

“Right,” Wade says, clears his throat and tries again when Peter doesn’t continue speaking, “uh. Can I–can I ask a kind of personal maybe intrusive question? You can always throw soup at me if you don’t like it.”

Peter glances up, and then sips his soup loudly.

Wade snorts, a fond smile spreading across his features. He crosses his arms, a little nervous himself.

“What you’re going through now,” he says, mouth a little dry, “does it have any of the symptoms a normal heat does? Do you crave anything? Should I get you medicine, certain herbs? Do you like wine? Will that help? A while back Vanessa had this Omega she’d been fucking and during her heats she really craved wine–”

“I’m not craving wine,” Peter says, a crooked smile on his face, “uh, but I am craving you?”

Wade’s heart stops.

This feels like dying.

This feels like spears and swords and fire ripping through him.

This feels–

“Shit, I’m sorry I worded that terribly, I didn’t mean to freak you out, I just…your scent helps? And uh, touching you?” Peter says, his blush even more pronounced in the glow of the candlelight, and he’s _so_ –

 _Fuck_.

Wade bites back a possessive growl, buries the fantasy of if Peter and him _were_ together what they’d be doing now, what they’d be like, what _Peter_ would be like–

“Yeah,” Wade chokes, then trying to lighten the heavy mood that’s settled, “you wanna cuddle?”

Peter relaxes, his scent saccharine in his gratitude.

“Can we? Is that strange?” Peter asks, and eases again when Wade shakes his head and moves to lay back down beside him, careful of the soup still in Peter’s hands.

“Finish that,” Wade says, gesturing to the half-eaten broth, “and then I’ll give you some lovin’.”

Wade relishes in the way Peter’s blush darkens, his scent sweetening under Wade’s gentle teasing.

He looks better, Wade notes, less glassy-eyed and pale. Maybe a bed was all that was needed, a warm meal away from the cold. Peter is from the South; he’s never had to deal with weather like this. Wade should’ve been more aware. He should’ve been more careful.

He resents his ignorance.

Peter sips his soup, but his hands are shaking, and it takes him longer than it should to finish the meal. When he does Wade takes the bowl and immediately pulls Peter to him. He may be naive about Omega’s needs and situations but he knows Peter and he knows gentle touches and scents help calm the younger man down.

Predictably Peter presses his nose under Wade’s jaw, breathes him in. It takes a moment but his shivering stops; he does completely pliant and soft against Wade. It’s miraculous, this trust, this misplaced vulnerability to an Alpha like him.

Wade doesn’t deserve this level of faith.

If he listens he can hear the steady beat of Peter’s heart, the way his chest expands when he inhales. Peter curls around him like he’s done it his whole life. The small lantern is the only source of light, and it plays with the shadows on Peter’s face, accentuating his cheekbones and eyelashes.

He really is beautiful, and Wade’s never had a crush before. Their biology might take it beyond a crush, at this point, if they’ve scented and found themselves compatible. It’s rare, for that to happen. Wade never saw his parents scent one another, never saw them smile or comfort. Maybe they did before Wade was born, before the Goblin King took the throne through murder, but–

But.

He’s sure his father never looked at his mother the way Wade can feel himself looking at Peter. The Omega’s scent is sweeter than normal, meant for attracting attention, so Wade pulls his furs and cloak tighter around the Omega’s thin frame.

They don’t want any nearby Alpha’s getting curious, especially with a bar right below. Wade can hear the laughter seeping up through the floorboards; can hear the clanking of glasses and the merriment down below.

He’d love to see Peter in a social setting, in a bar or a dining hall, anywhere besides the cold with blood staining the snow and enemies between the trees. He wants to hear Peter laugh more.

The Omega stirs against him, shifting, his leg hooking over Wade’s so the young man is curled completely around his side. Wade lets his arm drape over the dip of Peter’s waist, careful to keep his hand in a respectable place.

“Have you ever been in a relationship?” Peter asks carefully, his head still tucked under Wade’s chin.

The question breaks the quiet, scatters the jollity happening downstairs.

“Not really,” Wade answers, nuzzling softly against the top of Peter’s hair, “just hookups.”

“Have you ever been with an Omega?” Peter asks next, softer and a little more timid, and Wade’s glad for the darkness, it allows him a false sense of bravery.

“No,” Wade whispers, swallowing to wet his dry throat, “have you?”

Peter huffs a laugh and Wade pokes his side.

“Hey now, who said I was joking? Omegas hook up with other Omegas all the fuckin’ time,” Wade chides, relishing in the way Peter lets his hand splay across his chest, over the pounding of his heart.

He hopes Peter can’t feel how hard it’s beating.

“No,” Peter says, humor making his words light, “I’ve hooked up with Betas.”

“That makes sense,” Wade says after a moment, after squashing any jealousy that tried to arise, “their scents wouldn’t muddle yours.”

“Exactly,” Peter appraises, and it makes Wade’s Alpha stretch like a cat in the sun, “I uh, I haven’t kissed anyone though.”

Wade’s brow furrows, his grip on Peter tightening minutely just so he can distract himself from all the feelings summersaulting around inside him.

“You didn’t kiss in your hookups?” Wade asks, thoroughly confused despite the misplaced possessive relief.

“No,” Peter sighs, shifting against Wade again, his smell so _so_ sweet, “it wasn’t…they weren’t long. Or intimate. It was just me trying to experiment?”

“I get that,” Wade is quick to soothe just so he can feel Peter relax against him again, “I _don’t_ get the Betas.”

Peter pulls back and pushes up, and Wade pouts as the Omega braces himself on one forearm so he can stare down at Wade with calculating eyes.

“What do you mean?” Peter asks, a furrow between his brows, and he may look better but his cheeks are flushed, his eyes still a little glassy, and Wade wonders if the Omega’s fever has finally broke.

Wade knows he’s about to say something stupid, he _knows_ it, but Peter looks…well he looks like him and Wade just _finished_ kissing and it’s an entirely unfair appearance because Wade’s pretty sure Peter could ask him to do anything right now and he’d do it, no hesitation.

“I don’t know how anyone could resist kissing you,” Wade says, and _great_ , now it’s out there and he can’t take it back and Peter’s looking like someone just caught him jerking it, wide-eyed and blushing and–

Wade opens his mouth to start talking, to start saying any nonsense that will detract from the severity of what he just admitted but Peter beats him to the punch.

“Please don’t ruin this moment with bad comedic relief,” Peter whispers, expression awed and surprised, but there’s a soft curiosity to him that has Wade forgetting how to even speak.

Peter swallows and then, very carefully, slow enough that Wade could stop him if he wanted (why would he ever want to?) Peter raises his hand to trace light fingers over the scars around Wade’s mouth. He finds a puckered one, the one shaped like a half-formed crescent. It’s Wade’s least favorite, it makes his upper lip look crooked, but Peter’s staring at him so intently, eyes taking the shade of melted gold, that Wade can’t find it in himself to cringe in his own self-disgust.

If Peter is touching him and not pulling away then it’s okay.

It’s good.

Just as long as Peter keeps touching him.

“Would it,” Peter fumbles, has to catch himself, and Wade can feel a slight tremble in his hands, a nervousness creeping into the edges of his scent, “would it be incredibly…presumptuous of me if Iaskyoutokissme?”

The last part is said so fast Wade can barely make it out. He knows what Peter’s asking, just from how the Omega is looking at him, from how he scents, from the setting that they’re in, but there’s a selfish, possessive part of him that wants to hear Peter _say it_.

He steels himself, lifts up his hand to smooth back Peter’s long hair, to offer the Omega some sort of reassurance because the younger man’s skin is so hot Wade’s a little worried for him.

Wade sits up, back to the wall, and Peter’s leg is still draped over one of Wade’s, and it takes everything in the Alpha to not focus on the fact that Peter is half in his lap. This isn’t about Wade.

 _None_ of this should be about Wade. This is about _Peter_ , and his comfort, and his well being, and what will help _him_ –

But Wade is selfish, because he wants to pull Peter closer, wants to show the Omega how good kissing can be. His Alpha is clawing for it, so terribly that Wade’s probably shaking too.

He’s never been with an Omega. Peter’s never been with an Alpha. They need to do this carefully, and for the right reasons. Wade’s pretty sure Peter’s perceptive isn’t the same as his. There’s no way in the entire universe that someone as good as Peter would have feelings for someone like Wade.

The world doesn’t work like that.

Wade has never expected it to.

“What was that last part?” Wade whispers, keeping his tone even, his scent inviting and reassuring.

Predictably, Peter leans into Wade’s touch. Peter takes a breath, steadies himself, and meets Wade’s gaze in a challenging manner that makes Wade hot with a punch of desire.

“Can you kiss me?” Peter asks, emphasizing every word, then immediately backtracks in a self-conscious diatribe, “Only if you want but we’re compatible and I find you really attractive and we might die tomorrow and–”

“Whoa hey,” Wade hums, bringing up his other hand to cup Peter’s face, to rub his thumbs reassuringly over the Omega’s cheekbones, “what’s up with that? I ain’t letting you die, and that actually means somethin’ comin’ from me ‘cause I _can’t_ die.”

Peter lifts his own hand to cover Wade’s, the difference in size makes Wade’s chest constrict.

“I do want to know more about that,” Peter whispers, “at some point.”

“Sure,” Wade answers, easy, because maybe Peter was joking, maybe he regrets asking Wade _anything_ , so Wade can use this to deter Peter from making a mistake by kissing someone as ugly as him–

“Wade,” Peter says, gentle, and Wade comes back, “uh, did I mess this up?”

And Wade realizes he never gave Peter an answer.

 _This_ is why no one stays with him.

“No! No,” Wade is quick to soothe, “no. You didn’t mess anything up. But– what’s this…what’s this mean, Pete?”

Peter looks unsure.

“What do you want it to mean?” the younger man asks and that–

 _That’s_ a very risky question.

Wade smiles, soft in the low light, his fangs catching Peter’s attention and making the Omega relax further. God, but he’s so sweet.

“Lets just…not think about consequences,” Wade suggests, overwhelmed with an ache so deep he can feel it in his bones, “for one fucking night lets pretend there’s nothing else. How’s that sound?”

Peter’s smile is blinding.

“So good,” he agrees, more breath in his words, and he leans forward, like _he’s_ going to be the one to kiss Wade.

“Wait,” Wade scrambles, hands falling instinctively to Peter’s hips and Peter freezes, alarmed, “first: are you feeling better? Second: this should be special right? You want flowers? Should we light more candles?”

“I’m feeling better,” Peter says, a smile pulling at his lips, “being close to you has helped a lot. And the food. I haven’t thought about a perfect first kiss. It’s better to have no expectations right?”

“Well I won’t be _that_ bad,” Wade promises and Peter grins, all teeth, before he swings his legs over Wade’s and settles low on the tops of Wade’s thighs.

Wade’s gone entirely offline.

Peter leans forward, nuzzling against Wade’s neck and breathing in, deliberately letting Wade feel the shudder that racks down Peter’s spine. Wade’s embarrassed to say he’s already half hard and all Peter’s done is stare and scent him, but he’ll be able to hide it so long as Peter stays on his thighs and doesn’t try to move up.

“You okay?” Wade asks, voice rough and only getting rougher the longer Peter stays pressed against him.

“Am _I_ okay?” Peter repeats, an incredulous expression on his face when he pulls away, not going far, “Wade, I’m _attracted_ to you. You’re treating this like it’s hurting me.”

Wade shrugs, not meeting Peter’s gaze. He wants to respond but his throat feels tight.

“Hey,” Peter soothes, thumbs caressing over the scars on Wade’s cheeks until Wade’s eyes meet his, “are _you_ okay?”

Wade doesn’t want to answer so he just licks his lips and leans in to press his mouth gently against Peter’s own. The Omega doesn’t protest Wade ignoring his question, instead his hands grip Wade’s shoulders, almost painfully, and Wade hums, a low soothing sound against Peter’s lips to get the Omega to relax.

It works, and they break apart not long after.

Wade smiles, taking in the flush of Peter’s features.

“Relax baby,” Wade instructs, his hands smoothing up and down Peter’s sides, “just follow my lead. And don’t think.”

“Don’t think,” Peter repeats, tracking Wade’s every move, his scent drawing Wade in like a moth to a flame, “easy.”

“Easy,” Wade agrees and kisses him again.

Peter’s more relaxed this time; his lips aren’t as pursed, and when Wade moves his mouth Peter copies. It’s better, and it makes a heat Wade isn’t familiar with light along his veins, burns his blood and almost has him growling.

Peter’s fangs nip his lip and it sends a jolt down Wade’s spine, his hands gripping Peter tight, pulling the Omega against his chest and relishing in the feel of him. Peter smells aroused and content, the scent of it akin to flowers and pollen on warm days Wade’s never had but Peter makes him believe he’s lived a life that isn’t his own.

Wade has to be cognizant of himself. He can’t lose control. Gently, so Peter knows what’s up, Wade wraps his arms around his waist and slowly rolls them over. He doesn’t want Peter’s back exposed to the door, even with the dresser propped back against it.

He wants Peter sheltered, safe in the cage of his arms. If anyone were to come in they’d face Wade first. It’s better, with Peter safely pressed against the mattress.

Peter makes a happy noise, a little sound that makes Wade’s cock thrum. Shit, this kid.

They break, and Wade takes a moment to catch his breath. There hadn’t been any tongue, any wandering hands, but he feels like he could cum from just this. It’s embarrassing; the effect Peter has on him. Wade feels the best kind of body high. He feels drunk and giddy, like he can do anything. Peter looks like he feels the same.

The air between them is charged, electricity meeting thunder, lighting fizzing when they touch, and Wade feels drawn to Peter like he’s never felt before. Everything is Peter.

There’s an instinctual drive to what they’re doing, greed and desperation that hasn’t been in Wade’s life until now but all he can think about, all he wants, is to make Peter feel good–and shiver like that again.

They break after a longer time, pupils dilated, and Wade’s certain his eyes are red, something that usually scares off whatever partner he has but Peter’s just staring up at him with dark, gold eyes and kiss swollen lips.

Wade could eat him up.

“Are all kisses like that?” Peter pants, his hands still clenched in Wade’s tunic, and if Wade shifts, just a little, he can feel the heat from how hard Peter is against his hip.

“ _Hell_ no,” Wade growls before Peter’s tugging him back down and they’re right back where they left off.

Wade knows, in the back of his head, that this shouldn’t go farther than a kiss. Hell, it’s already gone farther than a kiss, there’s been _kisses_ , but damn if he had shit self-control before it’s shredded now because Peter keeps making these breathy whimpers of a moan, keeps shifting against him, keeps tugging him closer and wrapping his arms around the width of Wade’s back.

It’s like they’re possessed, like any rational thought has left them both, and Wade doesn’t come back to himself until Peter’s palm presses against the hard length of his cock through his trousers.

Wade breaks the kiss this time, breathing labored like he and Peter had been fucking, not kissing. Peter’s a mess beneath him, hair astray, eyes almost black, he’s the picture of desire and want and Wade–

Wade’s weak.

“I don’t want to stop,” Peter says, his voice all breath and arousal and wrapped in a decadent promise, “do you?”

“No,” Wade croaks, licking his lips, growling lowly when Peter teasingly repeats the action, “but, fuck, Pete, this…I don’t wanna lose control and hurt you.”

“Why would you lose control?” Peter whispers, trying to pull Wade back and whining when he doesn’t move, “Are you scared of a rage?”

Wade swallows, hands clenching into fists by Peter’s head.

“I’m scared of a rut,” Wade admits, words vulnerable in the candlelight, “I can’t protect you if I’m out of my mind.”

Peter tsks, looks at Wade carefully. He looks nearly feverish, and Wade’s terrified for a moment that this brought Peter into a deeper heat.

“I’m okay,” Peter tells him, relaxing his grip around Wade’s shoulders, “we can just do this. We can just kiss.”

Wade shakes his head, a hollow smile straining his features.

“Baby, it’s taking everything I got to not suck you dry right now,” Wade whispers, relishing in the hitch of Peter’s breath.

He can’t help it, he leans down, nuzzles against Peter’s neck and lightly licks over patch of skin where his scent is the strongest. It makes Peter jolt, a full body shudder, and the Omega’s nails dig punishingly into his skin.

“Wade,” Peter whimpers, his knees coming up and pressing against Wade’s hips, “that’s…sensitive.”

“I know,” Wade grins, licking one more time just to feel Peter shake before pulling back with a regretful groan, “Gods, you’re fucking beautiful.”

Peter smiles, bashful, before taking a steadying breath and loosening his hold on Wade.

“I need to calm down,” Peter says, “you’re not helping.”

“Then stop looking so good,” Wade refutes but backs off, rolling over so that Peter’s draped across his chest, back to their original position.

It puts some space between them, and Wade doesn’t even bother to hide the tenting in his trousers. It’s always an ego boost to know how well you’ve turned someone on; Peter deserves that, at least.

“So how was it?” Wade ventures after they’ve calmed, after their breaths have steadied, “Everything you hoped a first kiss would be?”

“It’d be better if you had let me suck–“

“Ooh, you’re really pushing it,” Wade warns, but kisses Peter deep to take out the bite in his words.

“I should’ve thought this through,” Peter says, voice low and a little embarrassed as he shifts against Wade, “I don’t exactly have a change of trousers.”

Wade’s confusion must read on his face because Peter gives him a Look, and it takes a second for it to click. When it does the smile on Wade’s face is downright dangerous.

“Is that why you smell sweeter baby?” Wade asks, a pleased growl making Peter shiver, “You wet for me?”

Peter stares at him, eyes comically wide, before he buries his face in his hands and rolls away from Wade with a low groan.

“You’re horrible,” Peter whines and Wade laughs, following him, pressing up against Peter’s back and pulling him into his chest, “you won’t let me suck you off but you can talk dirty?”

Wade laughs, a low vibrating sound, and kisses the nape of Peter’s neck. Peter lets out a helpless sound.

“Sensitive here?” Wade asks, making sure Peter feels his lips moving against his skin. “Aw, hell you are, aren’t you? You’re sensitive aren’t you baby?”

“Wade I swear to Gods,” Peter growls, reaching back and hitting Wade’s thigh, “you’re the one who wanted to stop.”

“ _Ugh_ , I know,” Wade sighs, pressing one last open-mouthed kiss to Peter’s neck before tucking his nose in Peter’s hair instead, “but being responsible is so hard!”

“Then don’t be responsible,” Peter says, and presses his ass right where Wade both _needs_ it and _wants_ it.

Now that Wade’s aware of what the sweet tick in Peter’s scent is he’s kinda going crazy, overwhelmed with the knowledge that the Omega is getting wet _for_ him, that he’s wet enough for Wade to smell it on his _scent–_

Just as Wade’s about to reach for him Peter pulls away, turning so that he’s facing Wade with a shit-eating grin.

“Well this is gonna be hell,” Wade gripes, rolling his eyes as Peter kisses the frown from his face.

“We’re friends,” Peter says, “who kiss.”

Wade hums, ignoring the thrum of disappointment and electing to wrap his arms around the Omega and pull him close.

“Sure,” Wade agrees, letting Peter scent him, “whatever you want baby.”

“What do _you_ want?” Peter asks, gentle, but Wade doesn’t answer, just lets his scent and his touch lull Peter to sleep.

It doesn’t matter what he wants.

Their situation is too messy for Wade to get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL remember when I said I'm only updating on Tuesdays? to be fair endgame is this weekend and we all need some happiness before that so here we are. 
> 
> good luck this weekend ya'll. we're in the endgame now.


	7. you are my strange addiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bells go gong and swords go clash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what a horrible summary all right all right: 
> 
> TW: Violence, mild gore, sexual content

Francis never knew his parents.

He was found in a blacksmith’s keep West of the Kingdom of Fell, swaddled in sheep’s wool and hay. An old Beta woman found him, took him in, and kicked him out when he was fifteen, when he presented and his eyes went red. No village wanted an Alpha like him for long, so he stuck to the roads, stuck to moving as often as he could. When he was eighteen he saw the ocean for the first time, and it was also the first time he ever cried.

He hasn’t seen anything that beautiful since.

The first time him and Wade met they almost killed one another. It was to be expected: two drunk Alpha’s in a space filled with jeering, laughing faces, and him and Wade were both itching for a fight.

For all the blood and broken bones it worked out well enough.

They were twenty and traveling together like they’d been doing it their whole lives. There was an excitement to it: of robbing wealthy travelers on the side of the roads. They didn’t used to kill them. But when they were close to the Grasslands Far East a reward was put out for their heads. They didn’t take chances on survivors after that.

Francis never fully trusted the others.

He never understood Wade’s desire to travel, to see the South.

He never understood Vanessa’s want to find comfort and companionship, didn’t understand Weasel’s greed or lethargy.

He didn’t understand having dreams, or wishes, or any of that fantastical bullshit. They live in a world that’s ruled by a horrible dictator, they live in a world that’s in ruin and broken and divided. Francis has never tried to strive for anything besides that because what’s the point? What good could ever come from it besides an earlier death for those who tried?

He doesn’t like seeing weakness in people. He doesn’t like having to depend on those around him. Omegas are good for sex, and that’s it. Why bog himself down with anything beyond that? All the Omegas he’s met have been flirty, and submissive, and rolled over as soon as his eyes went red.

When he met Peter he thought that was how this one would be too. Especially an Omega who was promised to the Goblin King’s son. He should’ve been the most obedient of them all.

Surprisingly enough the Omega _didn’t_ roll over. He _didn’t_ bare his neck at the sight of Francis covered in blood. He didn’t cower as Wade stepped up, mangled and wild, to him. It was a puzzling sight, but also an exciting one.

Francis loved a challenge.

What would it take to get _that_ Omega to bend?

 

///

 

The bells wake Peter first.

Then the footsteps stomping like thunder two floors below. At first he doesn’t think much of it. He would’ve fallen back asleep, still tucked against Wade’s chest, warm and safe and comfortable, but Wade wakes like a shot, sitting up and taking Peter with him, his arm wrapped securely around Peter’s waist.

He’s feeling better, the room doesn’t spin with the jarring motion, but he’s still feeling incredibly clingy, still needing to be as close to Wade as possible. This new position makes him want to whine in protest but Wade’s eyes are pinpricks of dark blue in the weak morning light, trained like a dog on their door, and make a jolt of panic settle in Peter’s chest.

The commotion downstairs gets louder before the feet move up the steps, loud voices carrying through the weak floorboards.

“Open up on Royal Decree! We’re mandated to search for a missing–”

Wade’s up and out of bed before Peter can so much as blink, tossing Peter his pants and tunic, throwing his own on in a hurried frenzy of movement. Peter copies Wade’s haste, tossing the blankets aside and getting dressed. 

He doesn’t realize how horribly he’s shaking until Wade gently moves his hands aside so he can clasp his cloak around Peter’s shoulders and tie it for him.

“Hey now honey those aren’t the fun kind of shakes,” Wade whispers, pressing a kiss to Peter’s lips, like he can’t help himself, “we gotta go.”

“Okay,” Peter agrees, no questions asked, because the voices are getting louder, the footsteps closer, and Peter doesn’t know what’s happening but he trusts Wade and that’s all he needs.

Wade leads them to the only window, opening the shutters and Peter winces at the snow that falls into the room. The wind is harsh, freezing, but it’ll drown out any scent Peter’s carrying. One blessed thing he’s finding about the North: its weather is good for hiding.

“Come on,” Wade urges, gesturing Peter forward, and Peter ties his last bootstrap before Wade helps him up onto the windowsill.

The drop below isn’t horribly high, and the roof is too slanted and covered in snow for Peter to find any traction. He’s going to have to jump, but he hesitates. The Inn isn’t tall by any means, but it’s still a ten-foot drop at least. If he lands badly, he’ll slow them down with broken bones for weeks.

The footsteps are on their floor, the banging on the doors sounding through the halls.

“Open up! This is Royal Decree–”

“Pete–”

He jumps.

He doesn’t have time to think about it.

He lands and rolls but it’s jarring, his knees protest the sudden impact and a sharp pain zings up his left leg. For a terrifying second he’s afraid he broke something, but he’s able to stand without too much trouble and press himself back against the side of the Inn. It’s early morning, the only people awake are the ones the guards rounded up, and Peter takes the chance to peer around the corner where other voices are rising up.

He hears Wade fall beside him, hears his muttered “fuck” before his arm is being grabbed and he’s being tugged in the opposite direction.

“Wait,” Peter hisses, letting himself be pulled behind the Inn, over empty wooden carts and discarded rubbish from the kitchens, the smell making him sick, “there were guards by the main gate.”

“That’s why we’re getting _away_ from the main gate,” Wade responds, keeping his voice low, “we gotta get out of here.”

“They’re looking for me,” Peter whispers, heart in his throat, “they’re searching the North.”

Wade curses, pushing them up against a nearby pub, and Peter’s thankful again for the low light as five guards march by, a young man in their grip. They’re holding him up by the arms; a head wound making him stumble.

Peter scents the air and freezes.

The guards are dragging a young male Omega.

Wade must smell him too because he goes still, pressing closer against Peter, his eyes a dull red in the shadows.

“Wade,” Peter whispers, dread making him numb, “they’re taking any Omega they can.”

Wade grits his teeth and doesn’t respond, just watches with hawk-like attention as the guards make their way to the main gate where a larger group awaits. Peter strains to hear what’s being said, an Alpha dressed in blue robes stands amongst emerald green cavaliers as the young Omega is pulled into the circle.

The Alpha in blue bends down, a large monocle squinted against yellow eyes. Peter doesn’t like the look of him. The Alpha snaps and one of the guards steps forward, unrolling a stained scroll.

Peter doesn’t need his heightened senses to know that the drawing is of him. Wade is a hard line of muscle against him, tensed and poised to fight at any moment. He’s unnaturally still. The blue Alpha reaches forward and lifts up the male Omega’s chin, turning his head this way and that, and Peter almost tries to push Wade off to try and help, to try and do _something_ –

The Alpha shakes his head.

A guard in green steps forward, raises his sword, and brings the hilt down hard on the Omega’s head. He slumps to the ground, a puppet with its strings cut, and although he’s bleeding he’s still alive.

He’s just a kid.

“That ain’t the one!” the Alpha in blue yells, shaking his head, “We only had one of those male bitches here. That’s it!”

The Alpha turns to the Royal Guards and gestures to the unconscious young boy.

“He’s yours. Take him to the Goblin King, we have no use here.”

One of the guard’s steps forward, an emblem of gold to show his rank gleaming even in the low morning light.

“We’ll do one more sweep,” the guard tells the Alpha, “the King thanks you for your service.”

Peter can’t focus on anything. He can’t find the air he needs to breathe.

“Here,” Wade whispers, voice rough and low, almost unrecognizable, and he turns Peter’s head so Peter can scent him, so he can find some faux proxy of calm.

Peter hadn’t even realized his breathing was choked until it evened out, didn’t realize how badly he was shaking until his limbs stilled.

Wade had noticed, of course he had, and Peter isn’t sure how he’s able to keep his scent so neutral under these conditions but Peter’s grateful for it regardless. He feels weightless, he can barely process that Wade is caging him in.

The guards are dispersing, Peter can faintly register that, and he tries to focus on breathing in cinnamon and earth and not the heavy copper tang of blood in the air. The gate to Frostbite opens with a rustic screech of frozen metal, and Peter hears one of the emerald guards pull the Alpha in blue aside.

“Send word if you find any more male Omegas,” the guard instructs, “the King wants what was promised to him. If you deliver he’ll make your life one that stands in the Kingdom.”

Peter can feel Wade, in more than just a physical sense. He feels like he’s barely holding himself back from something, his hands clenching into the wood by Peter’s head. One wrong thing will set him off.

Peter whines, softly, quietly, but it’s enough for Wade’s eyes to snap to his, meeting for the first time since Wade pulled them into the dark. Wade looks wild, looks hardly contained, lightning in a glass jar, and when Peter bares his throat Wade’s entire demeanor shutters.

He doesn’t hesitate, bends down and scents Peter hungrily, like he’s starving, like this is all he needs. Peter jolts when Wade’s fangs skim along the thin skin, when his tongue, warm and wet, licks a firm line up to Peter’s jaw. It seems out of place, to be this intimate, this desperate, after what they just saw but Peter has a feeling that Wade is going to fall into a rage and if this is the reassurance that Wade needs Peter’s going to give it to him.

“Wade,” Peter whispers, annoyed at his body for immediately wanting the Alpha, “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“I’m gonna keep you safe,” Wade mutters, his fangs pricking again and prompting a blaze of excited desire in Peter’s gut, “I’m gonna protect you.”

“I know,” Peter soothes, running his hands up Wade’s firm chest to cup the sides of his scarred neck, “I know you will.”

Wade breathes in deep, one, two, three large inhales, before he centers himself and reluctantly pulls away. The red has drained from his eyes so that Peter can see some of the original blue.

The guards are still moving, shuffling on the dirt, and Peter’s focus is on Wade so he doesn’t hear what’s being said but the gates are swinging shut with a definitive bang. But–

“Wait!” A voice yells, high pitched and scraggled and Peter and Wade both perk at the cadence of it, “Wait! Please, I have something!”

Peter’s beyond curious to peer around the bend of the house they’re hiding behind, to have eyes on what’s going on, but if a gust of wind blows the wrong way he wouldn’t be able to stay hidden for long.

Wade angles himself so he has a vantage point, still pressing against Peter, both to cover his scent and to keep him shielded, but Peter relishes in it for a whole different purpose entirely.

“The Inn keeper,” Wade says, voice low, careful, “he’s holding something.”

Wade sniffs and then freezes, every muscle locking up tight. Peter’s attention darts to him, alert and on edge.

“What’s happening?” Peter asks, because he can’t make out what the Innkeeper is saying, can’t hear the rumbling voice of the Alpha in blue.

Wade’s grip on the wall behind Peter’s head tightens enough that the wood groans in protest.

“Your undershirt,” Wade says, all of his attention zeroed in on the unfolding proceedings, “he has your clothing.”

A hot wave of realized panic washes over Peter, one crash after another, and his mouth and throat are filled with the gritty taste of sandy despair. His clothing. They left in such a hurry; in such a frenzied panic…he should have been more careful. He should have–

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Wade asks and Peter opens his mouth to answer before a bell, low and ominous, interrupts him, chiming out through the wide expanse of Frostbite.

People have begun to gather outside their homes, peering out through their windows in curious contemplation. Peter feels his insides twist unpleasantly.

“They’re sealing off the town,” Peter whispers, swallowing around the slow panic forming in his throat, “Wade–”

“We’re gonna have to make a run for it,” Wade tells him, eyes bordering on red again, “we gotta get outta here.”

“What about Vanessa?” Peter asks, “We can’t leave her.”

“We’re not,” Wade promises, “but she’s an Alpha who doesn’t smell like you. She’s the safest one out of the three of us.”

“Okay,” Peter acquiesces, “okay. How are we getting out? The walls are frozen we can’t climb. We can’t fight–”

Wade’s smile is as sharp as it is terrifying. It doesn’t warm Peter like all the rest, it chills him.

“I can,” Wade growls, pressing closer to Peter, dipping down so that they’re eye level, “I’ll paint the world red for you, honey.”

Peter swallows.

“Wade,” Peter says, slow so that the Alpha can process what he’s saying, “you can’t do that. If they catch you you’ll be executed. You’ll be–”

“Can’t die baby,” Wade interrupts, a growl building low in his chest as he reaches up and caresses Peter’s cheek, lingers on the sensitive skin of his neck, and Peter can’t help it, he tips his chin back, he lets himself be vulnerable, and it makes Wade’s breath stutter, “I’d love to kill them all.”

Wade’s thumb follows Peter’s clavicle, the dip in his bones. Peter swallows and he knows Wade feels it.

“We can’t keep running forever,” Peter tells him, “we can’t keep this up.”

“No,” Wade agrees, “we can’t. So it’s now or never, Pete. You wanna run? Or do you wanna fight?”

Peter hesitates. He remembers home. He remembers the warmth of the South, he remembers his Aunt. He looks at Wade and he sees endless possibilities of a life he never thought he’d be allowed access too.

“I’ve hear the Goblin Prince’s son is fair,” Peter begins, noticing how Wade’s eyes flare like a match struck in the dark, “if we kill the King he will be a good ruler. He’d be kinder.”

Wade relaxes, presses closer, his scent charged and hectic in the air. He’s excited, Peter realizes, and his enthusiasm under such intense circumstances helps Peter relax in a strange, assertive kind of way.

“Look at you,” Wade sighs, smile wide, “you’re hot when you’re planning to overthrow Kings.”

Peter huffs a laugh, half his attention on the guards beside them, the other half on Wade, and this is definitely _not_ the time to get turned on but he can’t help it, something about Wade presses all his buttons and it’s…distracting.

“We need to get that kid,” Peter says, “he’s still alive. He’s younger than me, Wade, we can’t let them–”

“We’re not gonna let them do anything else,” Wade promises, bending down and pressing a light kiss to Peter’s cheek, “stay here. Stay hidden. I’ll be back in no time and we can check out those hot springs.”

Peter smiles, strained in the growing light.

“Be safe,” he tells Wade, “I won’t bother to lecture you on killing.”

“Sorry hun,” Wade says, unsheathing his sword in a way that Peter finds unfairly attractive, “won’t listen this time.”

“Hurry up,” Peter huffs, crossing his arms and really this isn’t the time to feel so enamored but he trusts Wade entirely, _implicitly_ , and when Wade tells him things will be okay, that he’s going to fix it, Peter, as naïve as it is, believes him.

Wade winks and slips to the right, sword glinting, and Peter holds his breath, shimmies along the side of the hut to peek around the bend. He doesn’t like killing, doesn’t approve, but he realizes under these circumstances that it’s the only way to actually remain safe for a prolonged amount of time.

He sees the guard’s holding the Omega boy, and he watches, something akin to pride swelling in his chest, as Wade saunters through the city streets up to them. The onlookers peer from their perches in their homes, eyes wide and enrapt.

It’s cold, freezing even, and Peter didn’t realize it until Wade’s warmth left him.

His breath puffs out in white exhales, and he doesn’t think anyone notices him. All their attention is on Wade, this strong, scarred Alpha making his way unafraid to the Royal Guard’s and the Alpha in blue.

Peter thinks he’s whistling.

Anything to get through the day, he supposes, and turns back to face the large stone wall in front of him. He needs to think, which is growing exceptionally difficult because all he can focus on is the sounds of Wade fighting, of the onlookers screaming and jeering outside their windows.

It’s kind of horrible, if Peter thinks about it.

If Peter thinks about it there’s a young scared Omega.

With a newfound determination Peter peers beyond the side of the house, sees Wade and red red _red_ and slips back the other way, going to the opposite side and sticking close to the walls. He moves between the wood houses like that, the sun rising in the sky, a slow crawl to an overcast grey day, and when Peter gets close enough he can see the two guards still holding the unconscious kid, their eyes wide as they take in the carnage that Wade’s painting before them.

“He’s fuckin’ insane,” one of the guard’s whispers before handing off most of the Omega’s weight, “hold it.”

It.

Peter bites his tongue, tries to hold himself back, because he has no weapons and no know-how and there’s still one guard holding the kid up by the sensitive glands on the back of his neck, his head lolled to the side, blood drying on his skin.

“Fuck,” the guard hisses when his friend has been slashed in two and he drops the Omega to draw his own sword to defend himself.

Peter doesn’t look at Wade.

He doesn’t want to see him as he is now.

Instead he rushes to the collapsed kid, hands hovering uselessly over the prone thin form.

Tenderly, Peter turns the kid’s head. The wound isn’t deep, thank the Gods, but it’s a temple wound so it’s bled quite a bit. Without thinking Peter tears the end of his tunic, wraps it about the kid’s head, hoping to at least clean up and blot some of the blood. The kid’s eyes flutter and Peter relaxes at the proof that he’s alive, at least.

“Hey!” a sharp voice rings out and Peter looks up and striding toward him through the fight and mileage is the Alpha in blue, eyes wide, nostrils flaring and Peter realizes with a belated sense of dread that him moving into the open probably wasn’t the best idea.

The Alpha is clutching Peter’s forgotten nightshirt in a white knuckled grip and Peter can smell the sour stench of anger coming off the Alpha. Peter doesn’t think, he just stands to place himself between this man and the kid by his feet, trying to make his scent as muted as possible. He doesn’t want this Alpha to find anything about him appealing.

“You’re the King’s Omega,” the Alpha growls, striding forward and puffing out his chest, showing his fangs to incite intimidation but Peter doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move because he’s not about to run and leave this kid, “come with me, Omega. It’ll only hurt if you don’t–”

A blade lodges itself in the man’s throat, quick and efficient, and blood bubbles forth, chokes him out, and Peter looks away as he crumbles into the dirt.

“Time to go,” Wade hums, and Peter nods, feeling choked as he stares blankly at the blood that has splattered onto his boots.

“I got the kid,” Wade says and Peter turns, tries not to stare past Wade at all the mess that he left behind, “you wanna grab your shirt? He shouldn’t be touchin’ it.”

“I don’t want it,” Peter says, “it’s ruined.”

Wade studies him, oblivious or uncaring of the screaming townsmen behind him. Some are shouting devil. Some are praising him. It’s a cacophony of too much all at once, an orchestra without a conductor.

Peter feels sick.

He feels overwhelmed and numb.

“Pete,” Wade whispers, voice pitched low to be soothing, to not be too intense, but even that feels like sandpaper against his eardrums, “follow me.”

Peter swallows, and it taste like bile.

A part of him doesn’t want to follow. A part of him wants to just turn himself in and be done with it. Wants to get it over with because a part of him doesn’t care anymore, but then Wade’s touching him, gentle, the faintest press of fingers against the nape of his neck, where a bonding bite would form, and Peter wakes up and follows.

 

///

  

Wade takes them around the forests beyond Frostbite, leaving the ground stained red and the citizens without a leader.

They’ll figure it out, Wade reasons. Who the fuck needs authority anymore anyway? Peter’s subdued, his eyes unfocused, but that doesn’t surprise Wade. He had gone through a stress-induced heat, violence, kidnapping, within the span of a week. Of course it’s hitting him now, when there’s quiet, when there’s space, when there’s a kid in Wade’s arms that was going to be taken just as Peter had been.

Speaking of–

“Pete, we need to find his family,” Wade says, looking down at the short haired Omega in his arms, his smell not fully developed like Peter’s, not as enticing, just a little fruity.

Peter smells _so_ much better. Wade’s itching to scent him, itching to make sure that he’s unharmed, that he’s all right. Seeing that other Alpha approach him was as terrifying as it was enraging, and Wade wishes he had had the foresight to give the Alpha in blue a more drawn out death.

He didn’t like the Alpha’s scent, didn’t like his entitlement. He’s rotting in the earth now, with the worms and the maggots and Wade’s still angry. His attention is drawn down to the young Omega in his arms when the boy shifts, dark brown eyes looking up at Wade with alarm.

“Oh shit uh, hey, don’t freak out,” Wade begins but the Omega thrashes and Wade nearly drops him in surprise.

“Wade put him down,” Peter hisses, hovering close and Wade listens, gently setting the Omega on his feet and taking three large steps back, understanding how terrifying he can be.

He pushes Peter in front of him for good measure.

The kid’s chest is heaving, eyes darting frantically between Peter and Wade, and Peter holds up his hands in a placating gesture to try and soothe. His scent evens out, any traces of anxiety leaving, and Wade nearly bends down and runs his nose along Peter’s scent glands, suddenly desperate. Peter shoots him a look and Wade takes another sheepish half step away.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Peter murmurs, bending down a little so that he’s crouching where the boy has plastered himself against a tree. “We got you from the guards. What’s your name?”

The kid hesitates, before whispering, “Miles.”

Peter nods, encouraging, “Do you have family nearby, Miles?”

The boy relaxes, just a little, before nodding, his eyes still a little glassy from the head wound.

“The town over,” he whispers, “I had brought food to sell in the market this morning.”

“Okay,” Peter soothes, and even his scent is calm, “we’ll take you to them.”

The kid nods, slowly relaxing, before his eyes land on Wade again and he stands, stumbling a little, before walking over and stopping three feet in front of him. Wade doesn’t really know what the young Omega is doing; he’s looking up at him with a respectful air of submission that makes Wade feel increasingly uncomfortable. It doesn’t help that Peter’s watching with hawk-like intensity.

“Thank you for saving me Alpha,” Miles says and Wade blanches, alarmed as Miles tips his head back in a perfect show of submission, “is there anything I can do to repay you?”

Wade pales.

“Gods no!” He shouts, taking a step back and feeling panicked when Miles obediently follows, “you’re like twelve!”

“I’m fifteen,” the kid corrects, “that’s old enough to–”

A sharp warning growl cuts Miles off and Wade looks over in surprise at Peter, lips curled to show his fangs and eyes flashing gold.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Peter tells Miles, reaching out and holding his wrist, “Wade isn’t like–”

Miles tears his hand away from Peter, indignant.

“This is how we show our thanks as Omegas,” Miles says, attention back on Wade, “this is what–”

“Oh, hey, no,” Wade splutters, waving his arms frantically in front of him and ducking to hide behind Peter when Miles keeps advancing, “nah, I ain’t like that kid. You don’t have to repay me with sex because I didn’t kill or rape you. You don’t have to do anything really, besides maybe stay over there–”

Miles looks beyond confused.

“You’re an Alpha,” he says, slowly, eyes darting between Peter and Wade, “you’re not mated. Or claimed. Why don’t you want me?”

Peter’s tense under Wade’s grip, and Wade gets that this is horrible and terrifying but Peter should probably stop the low, barely there growl that’s been continually building in his chest.

“It’s not about “not wanting”,” Wade begins but at Peter’s sharp stare Wade backtracks, “I mean it kinda is ‘cause I don’t _want_ you but that–the problem here, well, I don’t–”

“He’s mine,” Peter snaps and Wade shuts up.

He blinks down at Peter in surprise but the Omega doesn’t meet his gaze, doesn’t break eye contact with Miles.

Miles’ eyes narrow.

“You’re not claimed,” he states, gesturing to Peter’s neck, “or mated.”

“The _point_ is you don’t owe me anything and I don’t want you to owe me anything,” Wade says in a rush because he’s never seen Peter this territorial, hasn’t ever seen an Omega stake claim to an Alpha, and it’s kind of making him all warm and fuzzy and wanting to get Peter alone as soon as possible, “this whole situation? Let’s forget it. We’ll get you home. That’s all we’re saying. In exchange don’t tell anyone about us. Sound good?”

Miles hesitates, conflicted, but one last look at Peter has him nodding slowly.

“It’s a days travel on foot,” Miles says, “but it’s a straight shot through the forest.”

“Great,” Peter gruffs, his words clipped, “lets go. Don’t touch Wade.”

He doesn’t wait for anyone to follow, just begins walking the foot-made path through the winding snowy hills and Wade watches him march off with a strange, fluttery warmth in his chest.

 

///

 

Vanessa woke up when she heard distant commotion coming from Frostbite’s front gates.

She untangled herself from the warm body of the female Omega beside her and went to the window, peering out. She couldn’t see anything, but if she smelled the air she scented copper and Wade and could easily put two and two together. She dressed quickly, grabbing her sword and buckling her sheath. She kissed the Omega sweetly one last time, still feeling buzzed and content from last night but trying to shake that fog as she exited the small hut.

There was screaming, voices carrying up through the morning dawn air, and Vanessa ran as fast as she could to where the source of chaos seemed to be orienting.

She was met with blood and gore and a hole in the gate.

Finding Wade after that was easy.

He smelled like death.

When she finds them it’s not what she’s expecting. It’s later afternoon, the weak sun barely there to offer any sort of warmth, and with the additional snowfall overnight it’s freezing. Peter’s hunched over and resting, asleep against his chest, is a young male Omega, pale from the cold, shivering against Peter.

“I leave you two alone for a few hours and you slaughter a town and take a kid,” Vanessa says and Peter hardly reacts, looking up at her from where he’d been rubbing warmth into the kid’s arms.

“Hey,” he whispers, gentle to not wake his companion, “to be fair they tried to slaughter us first.”

“I’m sure,” Vanessa hums, eyes flicking to the boy, “who’s this?”

“Miles,” Peter answers, “he tried to submit to Wade.”

Vanessa can’t help the sharp laugh that escapes her. Peter doesn’t seem to find it as humorous.

“I’m not laughing at that,” she’s quick to explain, a scorned Omega is not anything she wants to mess with, “I’m picturing Wade’s face.”

A reluctant smile graces Peter’s lips.

“It was pretty funny,” Peter relents, shivering in the cold.

“I’ll make a fire,” Vanessa says, “or else you two might freeze.”

“We’ll be okay,” Peter tells her but softens his scent in gratitude.

Vanessa turns to leave but stops when Peter calls out, “You smell different.”

She preens.

“I had a fun night,” she tosses over her shoulder, “you should try it sometime.”

She doesn’t miss the scarlet blush that turns Peter red.

He smells even better when he’s embarrassed.

She wonders if Wade would agree.

 

///

 

 

Seeing Wade nervous is something Vanessa didn’t ever think she’d see.

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with Miles’ interest, doesn’t know how to talk even, keeps stumbling over himself in discomfort and all the while Peter sits and glares from across the fire.

Vanessa tries to give Peter tasks, like skinning the hares Wade caught or sharpening their knives but the Omega nearly cuts himself because he’s so preoccupied with watching Wade and Miles that Vanessa takes all the sharp objects away and sends Peter to gather water instead.

“ _Alone_?” Wade asks, shooting Vanessa a look, “He shouldn’t go off alone.”

“I’ll be fine Wade,” Peter mutters, tightening his cloak and furs around himself, “I won’t go far.”

“Let me come with you,” Wade pushes, standing to his feet and valiantly ignoring Miles staring soulfully up at him, “please.”

Peter hesitates, obviously struggling to choose between being prideful and being safe. He sighs, and gestures for Wade to follow. Wade nearly trips in his haste to catch up, and Vanessa watches them disappear into the darkening wood with an exasperated sigh.

She doesn’t understand them.

She’s never beat around the bush with liking someone, has never tried to play hard to get or coy. Peter and Wade are caught in a game of cat and mouse it seems, and Miles’ inclusion seems to be pushing Peter to a more tired passive approach.

The fire cackles, and Vanessa focuses on skinning the animals in front of her, so entranced in her work that she doesn’t notice Miles moving to sit next to her until his smell alerts her to his sudden proximity.

“Can I help?” Miles asks, holding out his hand and Vanessa smiles, passing him a hare and a knife.

“Someone should,” she says, “otherwise they’ll freeze arguing in the woods before we get a chance to eat.”

 

///

 

“So you’re mad at me,” Wade says, breaking what little quiet Peter had been relishing.

Peter doesn’t meet Wade’s gaze as he answers.

“No I’m not.”

“You’re ignoring me.”

“Wade we’re having a conversation.”

“And you haven’t looked at me once.”

“Fine!” Peter snaps, spinning on his heel and facing Wade, the fading light playing off his handsome features, making him look soft and warm.

Peter grits his teeth.

 _This_ is why he didn’t want to look at the Alpha. He loses all train of thought, can’t think straight at all. It’s annoying, and he feels aggravated, frayed from the gruesome events of the morning and for how obvious Miles was in his interest. It shouldn’t rub him the wrong way. Peter’s not a jealous person, especially of a fifteen-year-old kid who is only following societal norms.

And yet–

“Hi,” Wade grins, gentle, and reaches up to cup Peter’s face, rubbing his thumbs over Peter’s cheeks and just…staring.

It makes Peter feel like he’s the most important thing in the world and he sighs, reluctantly relaxing in Wade’s hold.

“I’m sorry you keep having to kill people for me,” Peter whispers, looking at the snow falling delicately on Wade’s broad shoulders, “that I’ve gotten us into all this.”

“If I remember correctly _I_ robbed _you_ ,” Wade whispers, leaning forward so that they’re close enough to share breath, which is convenient because Wade always makes Peter lose his, “can I kiss you?”

Peter didn’t know he’d been wanting that so badly until Wade brings up the possibility and he nods, frantic, and presses Wade’s laugh against his tongue. Wade’s lips are chapped and cool, comforting and becoming familiar, and Peter tries to let go of his pent up frustrations and just focuses on Wade and how nice he feels.

They part before things can get too deep, and Wade follows with small kisses against Peter’s jaw and neck, nipping teasingly at his ear before pulling back entirely.

“I have something I want to show you,” Wade says, a boyish grin brightening his features, “c’mon.”

They walk through the snowy woods, the sun a pink pale light reflecting off the white ground and making the world softer. Wade leads him along a stream, through a dip in the hills and to the mouth of a cave.

Peter hesitates outside.

“Are you going to kill me?” he teases, tugging at Wade’s hand and drawing him closer. “Is this why we’re in the middle of the forest by a desolate cave?”

“You got me,” Wade smiles, kissing Peter’s nose, then his lips. “You’re so smart.”

“No offense but I don’t want to go in a damp cave,” Peter says.

Wade shakes his head, reaching up and ruffling the melted snow from Peter’s hair.

“It’s warm,” he promises, “we can bring Miles and Ness here to sleep.”

“Shouldn’t we go get them?” Peter asks, heart picking up the pace at Wade’s look.

“I want you to myself first,” Wade whispers, words lost in the winter wind, “didn’t get to enjoy waking up with you.”

Peter’s smile is nearly as blinding as the setting sun.

“Lead the way then,” Peter instructs and Wade skips them along, ducking under for the first few feet before the cave opens up into a bigger cavern.

It’s nothing huge, but it could hold six people easily. Wade’s right, it’s warmer under the hills.

What little light there is comes through the opening of the cave, and Peter can just make out Wade’s face in the dark.

“C’mere,” Wade smiles, sitting down and tugging Peter into his lap, his hands raising to settle on Peter’s waist to steady him.

Peter sighs relaxing under Wade’s grip and can’t help but lean forward and scent the Alpha. It calms him immediately, makes him warmer than the furs still tucked tight around them. Wade hums, pleased, his scent reflecting his contentment as his hands bunch under Peter’s cloak.

“Why were you so standoffish earlier?” Wade asks, keeping his tone neutral in case Peter finds offense.

Instead the Omega appears almost embarrassed, pulling back but not meeting his gaze.

“I wasn’t that bad,” Peter says, “but he was offering himself to you and I know Omegas smell sweet to Alphas and we aren’t officially claimed and he just keeps _staring at you_ –”

“You’re jealous,” Wade observes, coy and too smug, “of a ten year old boy?”

“Fifteen,” Peter corrects not meeting Wade’s gaze, “and I’m _not_ jealous.”

“No?” Wade laughs, his hands sliding up under the gap in Peter’s tunic, “Then why are you all pouty?”

“I’m not “pouty”,” Peter grumbles, pouting, “ _you’re_ delusional.”

“Huh,” Wade hums, pretending to think as his hands trail warmth up and down Peter’s sides, “so if I were to take the kid up on his offer–”

The growl that leaves Peter’s throat surprises even him but Wade just looks like the cat that got the cream, his smile is so wide.

“ _Oh_?” Wade exclaims, too happy, blunt nails trailing down Peter’s back and making him shudder. “What was that baby boy? Did you _growl_ at me?”

Peter feels too hot, Wade’s teasing getting him riled up and he shifts on Wade’s lap, blush making his cheeks flush red.

He also feels like he’s losing what little upper hand he had so he tightens his thighs around Wade’s hips and relishes in the way the Alpha’s eyes look almost black in his arousal. If Wade wants to tease then Peter will happily assist. He wraps his arms delicately over Wade’s broad shoulders, pushing himself up a little more on his knees so that Wade’s head is tipped back to meet Peter’s gaze.

Wade’s only focus point is Peter.

It’s a heady, powerful feeling, one that Peter’s never experienced before. It’s addicting.

“What if I did?” Peter responds, keeping eye contact as he slowly, subtly, rolls his hips. “What would you do if I growled at you?”

Wade’s eyes _light up_.

His fangs, sharp and longer than Peter’s, peak from under his lips; he looks delighted that Peter’s talking back. He’s _thrilled_ , if the hardness Peter feels against his ass is any indication. And that sparks another jolt of arousal through Peter, makes him wet, and he can feel the first leak of his slick.

Wade inhales and his eyes shift _red_.

His grip on Peter tightens and he pulls them so they’re chest-to-chest, as close as they can be, and Peter’s both embarrassed by his scent and unbelievably hard at Wade’s reaction to it.

“There’s _so_ many things I would want to do to you,” Wade admits, eyes intense and calculating Peter’s every move, “what do _you_ want to do?”

Wade’s giving Peter an out.

He’s giving Peter control to make the decision of how far this should go.

It isn’t necessary but it is appreciated.

“I want you to smell like me,” Peter admits, his voice steady for how hard his heart is beating, and he knows that it’s a possessive thing to say but he can’t help it.

Wade makes him want to be vulnerable.

The Alpha provides strength in that.

“I want people to know that you’re mine,” Peter whispers, and Wade’s eyes are _blazing_ , “if you want. If you want that. I don’t mean to be possessive, of course you’re not _mine_ mine–”

“Yes I am,” Wade interrupts, his grip on Peter tight and reassuring, heat against Peter’s skin, a contrast to the cool breeze coming from the waterfall, “we don’t need to be mated for me to be yours. I _want_ people to know. I want every single fucking person in this world to know that I’m yours and you’re mine.”

Peter’s heart is pounding, loud as a drum in his ears. He’s never felt like this about another person before.

This is different than a first time feeling.

This feels old, this feels inevitable, his attraction to Wade. It feels inescapable, but Peter isn’t trying to leave.

He doesn’t want to leave Wade.

But he knows that he could die at any time. He knows that if the Goblin King catches on to them that he will have to prioritize Aunt May’s well being over him and Wade. He knows that there is so much that could go wrong, so much uncertainty, but for one fucking night he’d like to forget it.

The way Wade is looking at him, the way Wade is holding him, leads him to believe that Wade feels the same way.

“Would you bite me?” Peter asks, voice cracking.

“Only if you’d want,” Wade says, sounding just as ragged as Peter, his scent pure _want_ and _comfort_ and _lo_ – “you…have you ever been bitten before?”

Peter shakes his head.

“No,” he admits, not being able to help himself from caressing the scars on Wade’s face, the dip of his cupids bow, “but it’s okay. Two bites and we’re mated; we don’t have to go that far. The first bite, it’s meant to show I’m with you. I want that.”

Wade’s breathing has gone shallow, static.

“Yeah?” he whispers, sounding awed, sounding reverent, as he smooths his hands up Peter’s ribs, holding Peter close, “You want me to claim you?”

Peter’s cock twitches, and he can’t help the small broken whine that escapes him. Wade’s hard against him, hot and persistent, and Peter doesn’t know what he wants first, he just wants all of it. He feels like he’s burning out of his skin. He feels like Wade’s shocking life into every pore of his being. He feels incomplete and desolate just as much as he feels found and cherished and adored. It’s a dizzying feeling, and Peter knows what would help balance it.

“Please,” he nearly begs, he’s close to it, “Wade–”

The kiss Wade pulls him into is deep and desperate, a lifeline in a long list of drowning and Peter feels saved.

It happens faster than anything Peter could have predicted but he doesn’t care, would have liked it _faster_ but Wade’s determined to take him apart, to peel back his layers and taste him, and when he settles Peter on his back, their cloaks providing a soft space to lay, he spreads Peter’s legs and dips between them with an eagerness Peter’s only fantasized.

Wade’s tongue is as dexterous as the man it belongs to, and no one, _no one_ , has licked Peter there before. Wade takes his time here, takes the time to savor it, like Peter’s a treat, like he’s a meal _deserving_ of being relished, and Peter gets too close too fast with the combination of Wade’s hand around his cock and his tongue inside him, he’s scrabbling at Wade’s bare shoulders in warning.

“Wait _wait_ ,” he pants, and Wade lifts his head, his lips wet with slick, eyes red and pupils dilated and Peter nearly forgets what he’s wanting to say, “I’m getting too close.”

Wade’s smile has his toes curling.

“Honey, baby, _sweetheart_ ,” Wade growls, sucking a dark red mark high on Peter’s thigh and making him shake, “that’s the whole damn point.”

“But,” Peter stammers, breath stuttering at Wade’s tongue tracing the line of his hip, “I want you _in_ me.”

Wade’s head shoots up, surprise coloring his features for only a moment before he kisses Peter’s thigh one last time and crawls up the length of him, attention never wavering.

“You ever done that before?” Wade asks, gentle, non-judgmental.

Peter wraps his arms around him anyway.

“No,” he admits.

“It might hurt at first,” Wade tells him, “it did with me. But then again, you’re made for it aren’t you baby?”

His fingers trace Peter’s hole, wet with saliva and slick and Peter whines, wraps himself around Wade eagerly.

“Just go slow,” Peter whispers, “you’re not exactly small.”

“Careful,” Wade teases, pressing, searching, _curling_ his fingers and laughing low when Peter _jolts_ , spasms around and against him, “you’ll give me a big ego.”

“Haa- _ha_ it can’t get any bigger,” Peter pants, eyes shining in delight as he wraps his legs tight around Wade’s hips and rolls them so he’s on top, Wade’s hands settling on his hips.

Wade’s fangs make Peter dizzy.

He’s _so_ wet, slick shining against the inside of his thighs and Wade just stares and licks his lips and Peter–

Peter’s suddenly determined to make Wade as messy as Wade made him.

It does hurt, at first.

The initial pain crosses out the pleasure but Peter drapes across Wade’s chest, feels Wade plant his feet, and then suddenly the angle is just right, _so_ right, that all he needs to do is cling to Wade and let him _lose_ _it_.

And he does.

And they do.

 

///

 

Francis arrives at Frostbite one day following.

Blood still stains the stones.

The villagers are still whispering.

And he’d recognize Peter’s scent anywhere. Especially when it’s left on a thin nightshirt against red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw haven't stopped crying since endgame so that's fun. needed some fluff at the end of this chapter oooh boi


	8. my doctors can't explain– my symptoms or my pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: sexual content!!! whoo--ooohh!

“I swear to Gods if you’re trying for a round four I’m going to leave you in this cave to rot,” Peter mutters and Wade _would_ be a little nervous if his Omega didn’t smell so damn _happy_ , and _satisfied_ , and _content_ and if Peter hadn’t been the one to initiate two out of three of them.

“But you smell _so good_ ,” Wade hums, tightening his arms around Peter’s waist and nuzzling against the nape of his neck, over the purpling bruise of his claiming bite.

The shudder that runs down Peter’s back doesn’t escape him, and he can’t help but leave gentle kisses along the discolored skin, the overwhelming need to protect his Omega almost dizzying. Peter’s slowly sweetening scent makes Wade nearly preen.

“No, fuck off,” Peter laughs, turning to look at Wade over his shoulder, “and stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Wade asks and bats his eyes for good measure.

Peter swallows, his smile softening, and he turns fully in Wade’s embrace, reaching up to trace along his sharp jawline, down to his collarbones and shoulders. Wade lets his hands settle on Peter’s bare skin, no longer seeing the need or the reason for not peppering every inch with soft nipping kisses.

“I can’t get enough of you,” Wade admits, licking up Peter’s neck then planting a chaste kiss to his lips, “you’re so damn beautiful.”

It’ll always amaze Wade how Peter can match him in dirty talk but turn into a flustered mess whenever Wade calls him beautiful.

“We should get the others,” Peter sighs but moves closer against Wade’s chest and ducks his head to scent him, “it’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” Wade agrees, tightening his hold around Peter, “yeah, any moment now.”

Peter laughs and Wade drinks the sound like wine. They settle, and Wade keeps a hand on Peter’s lower back, smooths his skin and relishes in the reality that he’s allowed this.

At least for now.

“Can I ask about the witch?” Peter asks, voice almost loss in the cavernous space.

The wind blows outside, rustles the trees and brushes its fingers along the snow.

“What do you wanna know?” Wade questions, loosening his grip so Peter has room to pull back and stare.

“All of it,” Peter says, “whatever you want to share.”

“Hm,” Wade hums, shifting so that Peter’s head is resting on his bicep, “I was seventeen. Left home. Wandering in the woods.”

“Typical,” Peter snorts, “of witches to hide in the forest.”

“Well of course baby,” Wade agrees, “they just want to be left alone.”

“Were you loud?” Peter asks, an amused smile pulling his lips. “Telling your awful jokes?”

Wade slaps his ass for that.

“You laugh at them,” Wade points out.

“Never said I had a good sense of humor,” Peter answers, settling again. “Don’t get distracted.”

“Who knew you were such a demanding Omega?”

“ _You_ did. _You_ knew that.”

“In my defense you’re _unbelievably_ attractive,” Wade says, letting his voice dip into that low rumble that makes Peter’s eyes shift gold, “you’re _very_ distracting.”

To prove his point he lets his hand slide lower, following the curve of Peter’s ass and down between. Peter gives Wade a flat look, even if the Omega’s breath has shortened, his cheeks flushing.

“I’m sensitive,” Peter reminds, “you’re going to bruise me.”

Wade groans leaning forward and pressing a lingering kiss to Peter’s lips.

“See? You’re distracting. What were we talking about?”

Peter swats his arm.

“Witches!” he exclaims, small fangs peeking through his smile. “Tell me this story without changing topics and I’ll suck you off.”

Wade’s eyes flash red but he fights against the intrinsic urge to just push Peter onto his back, spread his legs, and go to town.

“Deal,” Wade grins, moving his hand back to Peter’s lower back despite the slick he had found, “so. Seventeen. Mother died. Left my old man. Wandering when I smell meat. Someone’s cooking and I haven’t eaten in Gods knows how long, so I figure I can offer manual labor in exchange for food. The smell takes me to this hut, made out of mud and branches, covered with moss. Don’t know how moss survived the cold, or how it was growing so far North, but it was. No one was home but there was meat spinnin’ on a spit and I was so hungry, ya know? So hungry I wasn’t thinkin’ straight baby.”

Wade falls quiet here, remembering and Peter softens his scent, reaches forward and places his hand over Wade’s thudding heart. Wade takes Peter’s fingers, kissing each one.

“Witchy didn’t like me stealin’ her food. Or rummaging in her house. Or trying to rob the jewels she had under her little bed. She said a few choice words and _bam_. My healing factor’s top notch, I die from starvation and come back to life only to repeat the process. Creative, I’ll give her that.”

Peter stays quiet, calculating, finding Wade’s eyes in the dim and holding it. His heartbeat is quick, panicked, and Peter carefully rolls him onto his back so he can fit along the front of him.

He lets Wade’s furs slide from his body; lets Wade feel every inch of his naked form. The Alpha breathes in a shuddering breath, hands resting on Peter’s hips. Peter kisses the scarred skin of Wade’s chest, open mouthed and gentle, before he slowly begins to make his way down, kitten licks across Wade’s hip bones and stomach. Wade watches him closely, eyes red, scent shifting from _anxious_ to _aroused_ … to _thankful_.

He’s hard against Peter’s sternum, and Peter licks his lips and holds Wade’s gaze as he opens his mouth and takes Wade all the way down.

 

 

///

 

 

Weasel was never a brave man.

He also wasn’t a stupid man, and there’s a blurry difference between stupid and brave. Wade, his thieving companion of five years, falls into both of those categories. Weasel jumps back and forth.

He usually chooses the outcome on which he’ll find himself still breathing. He thinks he made the right choice to not stand up against twenty Royal Guards. He’s not a fighter, and he’s not strong. What he is good at is strategy, and there was no time to derive one.

And now look where he is: a nice pub, with warm ale and a hearty slab of meat before him. He’s alive, and fed, and warm, and he can’t say the same for Wade. It’s not the first time Weasel’s run from danger and left Wade with the aftermath, but it might be the first time Wade didn’t make it out.

Ah well. They’re all going to die one day. Except that scarred Alpha can’t die, refuses to, and Weasel feels confident in his decision. If a witch had cursed him for trying to steal her goat then he might’ve stayed to fight as well. But when you don’t know the ending it’s harder to play the game.

“You look familiar,” a woman says and Weasel turns his attention from stuffing his face and over to the long legged beauty whose sat beside him.

He can’t scent her, as a Beta his smell is limited, but usually he’s able to pick up enough to be able to tell what class someone falls in. He isn’t getting anything from her though.

“Ah,” he says and takes a noisy sip of his ale, “I wish I could say the same to you.”

She looks amused, shy almost, and it makes Weasel cautious because never in his life has a beautiful _unsmellable_ babe sidled up next to him and made flirtatious small talk.

She makes a show of looking around them at the bar, and then leans in close, whispering conspiratorially in Weasel’s ear.

“Have you heard?” her voice is low and seductive. “About the lost Omega Prince?”

Weasel keeps one eye on her as he takes a large sip of his ale, needing the extra courage to meet his woman’s gaze and also not caring enough about the situation and stakes at hand to take his sober.

“Bits,” Weasel huffs, “what’s got you so interested in it?”

“The Goblin King’s going to declare war if the South doesn’t amend this in a months time,” she whispers although now that she’s close Weasel can see the flush in her cheeks, the alcohol that stains her words and makes her appear sloppy and human, not this beautiful, untouchable presence that Weasel first mistook her for, “the bartender says you saw the Omega.”

“Did he?” Weasel’s eyes dart to the other Beta behind the bar, who only raises his eyebrows at Weasel’s look, “haven’t talked to anyone ‘sides you all night.”

“Strange then,” the woman hums, and she trails a sharp nail down the fabric of Weasel’s forearm.  
He jumps up, trips over the stool, but still manages to keep his ale in his mug as he narrows his eyes at her.

“Whaddya want?” he hisses, eyes narrowing.

She laughs, slightly embarrassed by all the patrons in the bar turning their attention to the two of them.

“To have a drink,” she soothes, “to _talk_.”

Weasel takes in the room, at the attention that’s been inadvertently drawn their way. Something isn’t right about this woman, and it isn’t the fact that she’s talking to him at all.

No, something about her makes his skin crawl.

(And not in a good way).

“Right,” Weasel huffs, relenting at the look the bartender is giving him.

She continues to stare before shifting, tugging her cloak tighter about her and leaning in.

“If you can lead me to this Omega I can make you rich,” she whispers and Weasel eyes her, uneasy, “you’ll be able to afford more than this cheap bar food.”

Her gaze darts to Weasel’s plate, as if to bring him shame, but, fortunately for him, he has little to no shame left.

“Please lady,” he sighs, deciding to return back to his meal, “I ain’t a snitch. Ask someone else. I don’t even know that Omega–”

A bag full of coins is dropped heavily on his lap and Weasel nearly shouts at the weight on his dick. He’s about to complain before he registers the fact that a literal bag of money was just thrown on him.

He looks up to the woman in shock.

“Now,” she says, leaning forward, “which way are they heading?”

 

///

 

It’s strange, Peter thinks, that he feels so clingy with Wade.

They didn’t mate, Wade bit his claiming spot once, but Peter can’t seem to want to separate from him. Wade isn’t complaining, he’s indulgent and patient and _perfect_ , but when Peter doesn’t let him get up to go relieve himself the next morning after they went and retrieved Vanessa and Miles Wade brings it to his attention.

“Huh,” Peter says, looking down at where he’s gripping Wade’s wrist way too tight, “that’s…I hate that.”

Wade laughs, taking Peter’s grip and gently prying his fingers off.

“It’s normal,” Wade says, “or at least, I’ve heard of this happening. You feel more vulnerable after being claimed. It makes sense that you’d seek protection from me.”

Peter crosses his arms, both to show Wade he’s being serious and also to keep himself from reaching out and suctioning himself to Wade like an overzealous animal.

“I can protect myself,” Peter reminds, “I don’t need you to do it for me just because we’re claimed.”

Wade grins.

“Right of course,” he says and his tone makes Peter prickle further but doesn’t dampen his desire to pull Wade close, “you’re just acting clingy because…what? You’re horny?”

“ _You’re_ horny,” Peter snaps back, “and I’m not being clingy. I’m–go piss, hell.”

“Yeah? Will you let me? Wanna come with and watch?”

“I’m going to bite your dick off.”

Wade pales.

“Yikes, okay honey, no more jokes,” he soothes, stepping close and pressing a gentle kiss to the bruise on the side of Peter’s neck, “no more joking. I’ll be back so soon.”

Peter sighs, wrapping his arms around Wade’s back and nuzzling into his partner’s scent, letting it wash and calm and soothe the anxiety that had been mounting the moment Wade said he was leaving.

“Sorry,” Peter grumbles, “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Never felt like this before.”

“Hey, I ain’t ever gonna complain about you touching me,” Wade whispers, lips brushing Peter’s sensitive skin and making him shiver, turning him on instantaneously, and he’s sure Wade’s privy to his sweetening scent being this close to his glands, “hm. _Damn_ you smell good.”

Peter doesn’t have time to answer before Wade sucks a new mark over the claiming bite, and Peter’s knees nearly give out. Wade has to brace him from falling with a firm arm around his waist.

“Wow,” Wade breathes, kissing over the darkened spot gently, clocking Peter’s mounting arousal, “that’s a pretty reaction.”

“Wade just…hell just go piss so we can fuck again,” Peter whines, nails scratching along Wade’s arms; “I kinda really need you right now.”

Wade swallows and pulls back and that’s the _last_ thing Peter wants but it also means he’ll be back sooner and suddenly all Peter can think of is Wade bending him over the fallen log to their right, tearing off his trousers and using Peter however he wishes.

He wants Wade to pull his hair, to hold him down. He wants Wade to spread him out, cover him completely. Peter wants to sink down to his knees and let Wade use his mouth however he desires.

It’s a thought that has a punch of heat shooting through Peter’s limbs, makes him feel hot and flushed and he doesn’t think he’s ever been this desperate besides for when–

“ _Oh_ ,” Peter whispers, eyes wide as he takes a shaky step back, hyperaware of the feeling of warm slick between his legs, “fuck.”

Wade’s eyebrows furrow in concern, all teasing gone from his features.

“Pete?” he asks, “what’s–”

“Heat,” Peter says, dread competing with the hot, pulsating feeling in his gut, “shit, I’m going into heat.”

The last week makes sense.

His possessiveness, his horniness, his desire and want to be as close to Wade as he can, all the time, anytime. He’s been scenting Wade a lot, been needing it, and the realization is hitting Peter in the worst possible way.

Now really isn’t the time for this.

“Fuck I don’t want to be in heat,” Peter whimpers, anxious and torn between pulling Wade to him and pushing him away, “fuck. Fuck, _fuck_ –”

“Whoa, Pete, hey it’s okay,” Wade tries to soothe, tries to _calm_ , but Peter’s agitation is weighing on him more now that Peter carries Wade’s bite and Wade can’t help the red that creeps into his eyes at the scent of Peter’s slick, “we’ll stay here for a few days. I can make a nest in the cave. I can bring you food and water and you can work through this, okay?”

Peter feels frantic. He feels trapped. They’re in the middle of the woods, winter heavy on them, an insane Goblin King scouring the land for him; a child in their possession, and Peter’s body decides to go into a heat _now_?

Suddenly the cloak feels itchy, pure wool that digs into his skin. The cold is almost welcome for how hot he feels, how frayed. Anything touching him hurts, and he nearly bends over as another pulse of heat hits him in the gut, this one cramping, an uncomfortable pain blurring with the strange hot sensation.

He’s dizzy and a little shaky; it’s hitting him so fast.

“Are you two all right?” Vanessa calls, and Peter covers his ears, the other Alpha’s tone nearly grating.

Fuck, he’d forgotten how different voices affect him now.

“Not really!” Wade shouts back, and it’s strange, that Wade’s voice, while being the rougher, grittier of them all, is the one that soothes the prickling sensation in Peter’s fingers.

Peter sees Vanessa clearing through the trees, Miles following dutifully behind her, and he also sees the instant Vanessa smells him.

“Is that what a heat smells like?” Miles asks her, and Peter hates all these eyes on him. “I haven’t experienced one yet.”

Vanessa nods, all her attention on Peter.

Wade, whether he realizes it or not, places himself between them.

“Ness, what’s our best plan?” he asks, a little desperate.

“Why are you asking me?” she shoots back, distressed and covering her nose.

“You’re the brain cell here!” Wade snaps, “I’ve never dealt with heats!”

“I’m no expert!” she yells, “Ask your mate!”

“We haven’t mated yet!” Wade growls, a possessive, daring edge to his scent that makes Peter want to show his neck and submit. “I’m tryin’ to control myself here.”

Understanding flashes across Vanessa’s features and she steadies herself before carefully, slowly, walking forwards.

“Pete, how bad?” she asks. “One to ten.”

Peter takes a deep breath, tries to reorient himself. He knows that this is the second wave. The first had been this past week: his scenting habits, his needing to be in physical proximity to an Alpha. He’s in his second wave now, the one that brings the cramps, the fevers, and the horniness. The third wave is three, maybe four days away.

He won’t be able to do much then.

“Five,” he hisses, bending down to scoop snow into his hands and rub the chill all over his heated features, “I’ll have hot flashes and cramping. Hypersensitivity. I can travel. We need to keep moving.”

Wade turns at that, eyes narrowed.

“Pete, we should get you comfortable in that cave,” he says, some of his Alpha creeping into his tone, giving him an edge, and Peter knows that Wade probably can’t control that, is only reacting to seeing Peter in pain, but he needs to be careful speaking to Peter in that tone because where Peter is now it’s almost dangerous. “It’s not safe for you to be traveling and smelling like that.”

“Wade if my scent gathers in one place the King’s men will find me instantly,” Peter snaps, irritated and on edge, “I…in a few days time I’ll be in it. _Really_ in it. I… we need more distance than a short mile from the nearest town.”

Wade looks like he wants to argue, looks like he wants to throw Peter over his shoulder and bodily move him into that small, cold cave, but he must have enough rationality left to listen because he digs his nails into his palms and nods.

“You tell me if it gets worse,” Wade demands, “you tell me and I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

“I will,” Peter promises, fighting the instinct to just let Wade make all his decisions, to let his Alpha decide what’s best, but in reality _Peter_ is the one who knows what’s best for him, “right now it’ll come in spurts. I’m already feeling a little better.”

At Wade’s incredulous look Peter tries to smile.

Wade’s grimace tells him he doesn’t succeed.

“Hell,” Wade whispers, walking over and gently, as if Peter were as fragile as the snow beneath their boots, cups Peter’s flushed face in his hands, “I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’ here, baby. You call the shots. Tell me what you need and it’s yours.”

Gratitude makes Peter’s smile less strained, and he’s relieved that the oversensitivity of his skin is fading against the cold, winter chill.

“I will,” Peter promises, “I’m okay now. I’m good.”

Vanessa wrinkles her nose from over Wade’s shoulder.

“No offence Pete but you smell like slick,” she says and Wade’s growl has her holding up her hands in peace, “we should find a hot spring. That’s all I’m saying. Can’t go into a village smelling that strong.”

Peter feels embarrassment and shame, thick as a cord, wrapping tight around his throat.

He can’t find his words to agree, so he nods.

Wade meets his eyes, softens, and leans forward to press a reassuring kiss to Peter’s cheek.

“I’m gonna go piss,” he whispers and Peter laughs, can’t help it in his appreciation of Wade breaking any sort of tension, “and we’re gonna get you a nice, relaxing bath while Ness takes this little guy home. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Peter agrees.

 

///

 

The find hot springs in the pits of a cave hidden into the mountainside.

Peter isn’t sure how Wade pinpointed them but he doesn’t care, just wants this over with so they can meet Vanessa in the next town and get a warm meal and bedding. A part of Peter is inclined to stay in the woods, stay in this cave where they’re away from others: secluded and safe.

Wade hasn’t left his side for the remainder of the day.

He seems restless almost, on edge, and Peter constantly has to halt their walking so he can press Wade to his neck and let the Alpha scent that he’s safe.

“I’m not used to this,” Wade admits as he watches Peter undress from his station at the entrance to the cave, “not used to being this…” he gestures wildly to himself, “wound up.”

“Wound up?” Peter asks, distracted as he dips his legs into the warm water, the chill washing from his bones and melting away.

He can’t help the groan of appreciation. He’s been cramping all day, short of breath, irritable, but this is nice, this is relaxing, and his Omega is practically preening with Wade’s gaze heavy and unwavering on him.

“Like I’m gonna snap,” Wade says, eyes a hot red, “like any one thing is gonna tip me off.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, earnest, resting back against the rocky edge of the natural pool and regarding Wade carefully, “I didn’t think to how this was affecting you.”

“Don’t apologize,” Wade tells him, sniffing the air almost subconsciously, “you can’t help this. Isn’t anything wrong, I’m just…not used to feeling this, uh, protective? On edge? Possessive? Typical Alpha vibes honey, pushed up to the extreme.”

A slow smile spreads across Peter’s face and the hot water is doing wonders for his cramps, is breathing a new refreshing life back into him.

“What will help?” Peter asks, the cramping ceased, the dizziness gone, but he’s still horny, still craving physical touch, and he’s finding himself fixating on the cut of Wade’s broad silhouette against white mountain peaks, the taper of his trim waist, his strong thighs and hips.

“You’re staring,” Wade points out and Peter flushes, eyes snapping up to meet the Alpha’s.

There’s nothing but amusement and desire there.

“Join me,” Peter offers, “please?”

Wade looks torn, eyes darting back out over the rocky cliffs and the tops of the trees. Peter knows Wade wants to stand guard, wants to _protect_ , but Peter needs Wade’s touch right now, needs him closer than he is.

He can tell Wade’s about to refuse. About to say that he should stay where he is, that this should be quick, but Peter hasn’t had the luxury of a bath, much less hot water, in _weeks_.

He wants to savor this.

“Alpha,” Peter whispers and Wade’s entire body reacts like a jolt of lightning struck and left him _burning_ , “can you please join me? Please?”

There’s a heavy silence, one where Peter’s worried he went too far too fast but one inhale tells him Wade’s scent is nothing but pure want.

Wade doesn’t break eye contact as he stalks forward, undoing the tie of his cloak as he walks, lets it fall to the stones and Peter’s mouth goes entirely dry.

“What’d you call me baby boy?” Wade grins, saccharine and easy, “Wanna repeat it a little louder?”

Wade’s shirt gets tossed aside.

“I…” Peter begins and can’t finish.

Peter watches each new exposure of Wade’s body, his muscles flexing, his cock tenting his trousers and Peter feels like he’s trapped in a daze, he can’t look away.

“Well, Peter?” Wade prompts and Peter knows he should meet the Alpha’s gaze but he _can’t_ because Wade’s pulling off his trousers and his cock springs free, hard against Wade’s abs and Peter really needs Wade.

He really _really_ needs him.

“Please let me ride you,” Peter begs, desperate, “Wade–”

“I think I asked you a question,” Wade says, slowly sliding into the shallow pool, his thighs bracketing Peter’s in a very delicious way.

Peter whimpers, crawls over Wade without any prompting, his skin buzzing with warmth wherever Wade touches him. He reaches behind him and strokes Wade gently, nearly panting already but Wade doesn’t let him sink down, holds him steady and in place with a firm grip.

Peter whines.

“Ah _ah_ , honey, you’re not being very good, are you?” Wade hums, eyes red, and the growl under his tone has Peter shaking.

“Fuck, Wade, I…” Peter swallows any embarrassment he feels, steadies himself and meets Wade’s unwavering gaze, “Alpha, I called you Alpha.”

Wade grins, fangs sharp and prominent, and still he wont let Peter sit entirely in his lap.

“You did,” he says, leaning forward and kissing softly up the side of Peter’s neck, working his ear and letting Peter feel the shivers race down his spine, “hmm. Am I your Alpha baby?”

Heat, sharp and eruptive, blossoms in Peter’s gut, and he knows the water takes most of it away but if he were on land his slick would be dripping down his thighs, he’s never been so wet.

“Yes,” Peter breathes, barely a whisper of a confession, “yes please just let me–”

“Pete,” Wade interrupts, all teasing gone from his tone, “I know you’re feelin’ desperate baby boy. You know I gotta pull out though, right? You know I can’t cum in ya?”

Disappointment, misplaced and sudden, sours Peter’s scent and Wade coos gently, letting Peter settle on his hips, his cock rubbing against Peter’s ass and effectively taking the Omega’s attention.

It takes Peter a lot to clear his mind from his instincts and primal desires to register that what Wade’s saying is right.

“Yeah,” he sighs, nipping in slight spite at Wade’s bottom lip, “ _yes_. I know. I know that.”

Wade kisses him, deep and soothing.

“Don’t look away from me, Omega,” Wade says as he guides his cock to where Peter so desperately needs it.

Peter’s entire body relaxes with that name.

He just wants to please, just wants to make Wade proud. He can’t stop the whine that claws from his throat, that makes Wade look _dangerous_.

Wade enters him, slow, teasing, and Peter shudders, gasps out but he does what his Alpha asks and doesn’t look away.

 

///

 

The sex helps.

Peter’s never felt so relaxed during the second wave of his heat, but his cramps have now dulled to a light throbbing rather than sharp, jagged pains.

“Gonna have to give you another wash down baby,” Wade says, and plants a kiss on the nape of Peter’s already hickie covered neck, “you smell so sweet and inviting.”

Peter wiggles his ass against Wade’s front just to relish in the low groan it incites.

“I’m not complaining,” Peter sighs, turning in Wade’s arms to press a deep kiss to the Alpha’s lips, “if you’re not.”

“Complain? When have I ever complained?”

“This morning. An hour ago.”

“You’re supposed to have my back.”

“I _do_ have your back,” Peter presses, “it’s covered in my scratch marks.”

“Oh _ho_ ,” Wade laughs, kissing down Peter’s neck, his chest, biting at his nipples until Peter’s hips roll against Wade’s instinctually, “Gods, I wanna cover you.”

“Yeah?” Peter presses, tilting back his neck in a total show of submission, Wade’s cock twitching against his hip as he bends down and inhales deep, “Cover me in what?”

Wade pulls back, pupils dilated, the darkest Peter’s seen yet.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Wade pants, “How’d I get stuck with such a dirty Omega?”

“You regret it?” Peter asks, trying for teasing but knowing it falls flat.

“Never,” Wade whispers, kissing him, “just gonna die of a heart attack very young.”

“Better not,” Peter tells him, “I won’t allow that. Also you can’t die.”

Wade laughs, happy and joyous.

“Wow, I lo–” he cuts off, nearly biting his tongue, and Peter’s heart is hammering in his chest, terrified and fast.

Wade looks horrified and Peter takes pity, leans forward and coaxes Wade into a slow kiss, a leisurely kiss, a hot kiss, a forgetful kiss, until it’s natural for Wade to slide back inside and show his affection by taking Peter apart.

 

///

 

 

The fire is blinding.

Bright, raging, Vanessa keeps Miles behind her as they gaze out, alarmed and horrified, at the blazing chaos before them.

In the middle, standing unscathed is a familiar figure that has Vanessa’s heart sinking.

They make eye contact and Vanessa regrets ever picking up that Omega in Frostbite. The witch encased in fire smiles.

“Oh, Alpha,” she trills, “where’s that young Omega you’ve been traveling with?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the feedback for this fic has been so wonderful!! thank you guys so much :')


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